Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul
by royza-hawkstang
Summary: The Promised Day is over, but the dawn of new crisis is just beginning. Gruesome murders keep occurring in Central, and Roy's team is given the case, despite recovering from their wounds. But some things are more than just skin deep, and the aftermath of the Battle of Central has Riza beginning to behave a little… differently. (M for language, violence, sexual content, and blood)
1. Return From the Brink

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and welcome! That's right, from the writer that brought you Snap Shots and Father Figure, it's back to multichapter business with Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul. We're gonna get a little graphic in the chapters to come, kiddies, with blood, gore and sex, so consider this one of multiple warnings, other than that, enjoy! It's great to be back!_

 _I do not FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter One - Return from the Brink**

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL

1319 HOURS, APRIL 7

Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, warming the tiled floor under her feet as she slid cautiously from the bed. The room's other occupant was in the midst of a post-lunch nap, meaning that if she ever had a chance to break the rules, it was now, while he wasn't awake to scold her.

Movement on her part was still careful. Riza knew full well that she was supposed to press the bedside buzzer for a nurse's assistance if she had to get up for any reason, but her own stubbornness and distaste for having to rely completely on others prevented her from doing so.

A solo trip to the room's tiny bathroom took about five minutes all told with the need for cautious motion, but she forced herself to do it. One hand braced on the counter, she pulled the door open to go back to bed… and nearly jumped out of her skin when she found him standing there. She was careful to recover herself before she spoke; the man might be blind, but he had developed an uncanny way of still knowing exactly what she was feeling. "…Can I help you, sir?"

"Sure," he answered casually. Too casually. He stood blocking her path, his arms folded over his chest, and the faded grey eyes still somehow managing to stare straight into hers. "You can stop raising my blood pressure by making me worry about _yours_ dropping too low."

Riza suppressed a sigh. Their third such discussion since arriving here two days ago. "I told you," she said, forcing the annoyance to stay out of her voice. "I'm fine. I've been going to the bathroom on my own since I was very small and there's no reason why I can't —"

"No reason," he repeated flatly, cutting her off. "Like losing an unhealthy amount of blood isn't a reason." He took a step closer, one hand reaching forward to feel for and grasp her shoulder. Not strongly, just enough to help him make his point. "Take a look in that mirror, Hawkeye, and tell me what you see."

The years of following orders caused her to start turning her head, before she stopped with a grimace at the twinge in the left side. Gently disengaging herself from him, she turned bodily toward the reflective glass. "Same as ever," she reported, knowing it was a lie. "Blonde hair, brown eyes. Ears, nose, mouth… everything present and accounted for."

"Nice try. I can't even see and I know you're lying through your teeth." His hands rested again on her shoulders, he stepped into the small space behind her. His fingers took up a lock of hair, sliding down the smooth strands, until…. Riza involuntarily bit her lip as his hand stopped, fingers rubbing gently over a spot where dried blood had matted several of them together. It crumbled away under his touch, but not before she caught the dark look that crossed his face.

"Thought we got all that when I helped you wash your hair yesterday," he murmured.

"Must have missed some," she said, just as quietly. "But —"

"So that's one thing I already knew about," he said, not allowing her time to mount a defense. "We got here, and the ends of your hair on the left side were coated in the stuff. Because of —" His fingers left her hair, moving with heightened caution to the white bandaging that circled her neck and covered her left shoulder. "— this…." He paused a moment, then added, "And with as much blood as you lost, I'm willing to bet you're white as a sheet."

She swallowed hard, seeing the guilt starting to seep into his features. Her hand reached up, grasping his where it rested on her shoulder. "Roy, I'm okay," she tried again, though it was probably useless. She was starting to feel lightheaded, but covered it carefully. "I'm okay, I promise."

"I know." His free hand dropped from the side of her neck to circle around her waist, holding her back against him. "I just keep seeing that moment when…." He stopped uncomfortably, then his other hand slipped from under hers to join the one around her waist, and he tucked his nose against her uninjured shoulder. "I've never seen your eyes roll back in your head like that. I don't think I liked it very much."

"You and me both." Watching his reflection in the mirror, she threaded her fingers into his hair. A comforting gesture, one of familiarity she hadn't been allowed in far too long. The lightheadedness was growing stronger, but she smiled anyway. "That was a very nice hug you gave me after May stopped the bleeding."

His snort of laughter left a patch of warmth on her back. "Sure," he said quietly. "Nicer than this one?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she began to notice a sort of black fuzz in the extreme left of her vision. "…Roy, I need to —"

He was already moving, one arm still around her waist as he carefully guided her out of the bathroom. Just as they had on the Promised Day, he followed where she directed, letting her lean on him until she was able to sit carefully on the side of the bed. Immediately, Riza ducked her head between her knees, taking slow deep breaths as the black fuzz receded.

Roy felt his way into a crouch in front of her, and she could hear the wry smile as he touched her bowed head. "You know, I hate to say I told you so…."

"Then don't."

"I told you so."

Feeling some better, she sat up carefully and his bandaged hand slipped from her head to drop to her knee. He flinched at the unexpected motion, but recovered. "I _have_ had some trouble following orders lately," she said, taking another deep breath.

"I gave a couple of dumb ones," he admitted. His expression was focussed, listening carefully for nuances in her tone. His fingers shifted absently on her knee, as if in preparation for something. "But I'm glad you obeyed the most important one."

His free hand found hers and, after a quick check to make sure the door was closed, Riza guided it to her cheek. "Me too."

The kiss was gentle, and she knew he was holding back because of the dizzy spell, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Her hands went to either side of his face, holding him close, preventing him from pulling too far away. Just this simple action of a low-key kiss was proof enough that they were both alive and, if not well, then at least working their way in that direction.

At last, he carefully disengaged himself and climbed carefully to his feet. Riza watched, but did not move to help as he moved cautiously around the end of her bed, walking bent with one hand on the blankets, then the frame, and finally toward his own bed. She itched to jump up and direct him where to go, but that had been another discussion within their first hours here. If Roy wanted to learn to navigate this room while blind, he had to do it himself.

"Did Breda and Fuery say when they'd be back next?" he asked over his shoulder. His fingertips found and trailed over the surface of the rolling bedside table that stood between their beds.

"Not until this evening." Drawing her legs up, she lay down comfortably on top of her sheets, watching him. "I'm given to understand that Breda is in the process of forging my signature on two Temporary Duty Assignment forms for them, so it'll look less like desertion and more like poorly managed paperwork."

Roy dropped to a seat on the edge of his bed, head tilting curiously as he turned toward the sound of her voice. His expression was doubtful. "As if anyone is going to believe you'd misfile paperwork."

"As long as the paperwork exists _somewhere_ and there's too much going on here for Administration to be active, no one will press too hard about a pair of supposed deserters," Riza said. "And with Bradley gone, getting us all permanently reassigned to your office is a matter of one call to the new administration."

She watched as his face lit up. "That's right," he said, breaking into a grin. "All the chess pieces can finally be returned to the board." He hesitated a moment, his posture giving Riza a distinct impression of a hunting dog with its ears pricked, listening hard. "One second…."

An instant later, there was a knock and the door opened a crack. "Anybody home?" Edward asked, peeking through from the hallway.

"Come in," Riza invited, sitting up. She was smiling at the sight of Edward, but the expression bloomed fully as the elder Elric pushed the door open and backed inside, towing a shy-looking Alphonse in a wheelchair.

The younger boy smiled uncertainly at her, a painfully thin hand lifting to wave. "Hey, guys. Good to see you… with my own eyes, that is."

Roy broke into a grin. "I've heard that voice before, but without an echo off of metal, I can't quite place it." Riza noted that he kept his eyes closed so as not to alarm the boys with the strange greyed-out pupils. "But it's a da** good sound to hear."

"And the two of you are a sight for sore eyes," Edward fired back, grinning. He positioned his brother's wheelchair beside Riza's bed, before moving to stand at the end of it. "Did the doctors tell you how long you'll be in here?

Roy shrugged. "With another transfusion and some time for the cuts to really start healing, we should be out of here in a week or so, but we'll want to get moving quickly. We'll meet with Dr. Marcoh first, and then head East."

The spark of realization in Alphonse's eyes was definite, even though they were still relatively sunken in his gaunt face. "Lieutenant Havoc," he said softly. "You're going to him, so that Dr. Marcoh can fix you both."

"That's the idea, " Riza answered. She tugged the collar of the button-up shirt draped over her shoulders, adjusting it a little higher. The wraparound hospital shirt left more of her tattoo exposed than she liked, and she didn't need the boys to see it and start asking awkward questions. "The trick is getting out of here and then out East in the first place. Travel when you've just been released from hospital requires a special permit from the doctor. For active-duty military, that is."

"We might just end up getting Grumman to sign off on it," Roy commented thoughtfully. "He understands how important it is. If worse came to worst, he could override it from his new position."

Edward's eyes had gone hard, like shining golden coins that shifted from Colonel to Lieutenant and back again. His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

"You're going to use the Stone, even though you know what it's made from?"

The room plunged into an icy, brittle silence. Riza caught herself holding her breath, her own gaze sliding toward the other bed and the man sitting stock-still on it.

"That's the plan," Roy answered quietly. "Does it ease your mind if I tell you I have my reasons?"

"Does it prick your sorry excuse for a conscience if _I_ tell _you_ that that thing is made from _people_?!" Ed snapped, his hands balling into fists. "Or did the Truth take your sense of decency, too?"

Roy's chin lifted, his eyes opening to stare sightlessly at the boy. Edward flinched, just slightly. "Have you spoken to anyone that was outside the immediate centre of Father's transmutation during the eclipse? Because I have." He shifted to sit cross-legged, folding his hands in his lap. His voice, when he continued, was grim and serious, but not harsh. "I asked Breda, Fuery, and Havoc what having their souls ripped out was like. I also asked Knox, Marcoh, and Armstrong. I asked them all separately from the others, and they all told me the same thing."

Edward hadn't moved aside from the flinch and to cross his arms over his chest. "And what did they say?"

"They said it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, but instead of wind, rain, and debris, everything was darkness, blood, and above all, pain." His eyes opened, staring at the blankets. "They said that was the worst part. The pain. And all those souls inside that Stone are feeling that too."

The blond boy's lip curled in disdain. "So you think you're performing some kind of public service by using their energy?"

Alphonse's voice was serious, but lacked his brother's anger. "Colonel? I don't mean to discourage you, but… to help the people imprisoned in the Stone, can't you just… destroy it? Somehow?"

Riza shook her head, answering on Roy's behalf. "It's an intensely hard substance. Harder than diamond," she said. "Kimblee had one for years and reportedly kept it hidden by swallowing it and then forcing it back up. The acid in his stomach didn't even touch it."

"The only way to destroy it is to deplete it," Roy broke in again. "Marcoh offered to use it on myself and Havoc, and then he'll he'll keep it hidden. If there's one person we know who will keep it safe, only using it when absolutely necessary for the greater good, and maybe passing it on to someone who can be trusted, it's him."

At last, Edward's shoulders started to lower from their high, tense position. His face paled visibly. "...Going back a step," he said, voice suddenly hoarse, "you said everyone outside the centre of the transmutation… all they felt was… pain?"

Riza didn't have to ask to know his thoughts had just shot miles away, to Resembool and that house in the countryside. There was another long, silent pause before Edward murmured, "I guess, if it's already created with no way to reverse it, and being locked in the Stone causes the souls pain… it's better that it be used for good by someone like Marcoh than someone like Kimblee."

"Almost anything is better if Kimblee didn't use it," Roy said dryly, then smiled. "But I'm glad you understand."

There was a brief pause, and then Alphonse shifted slightly in the wheelchair. "I have a question," he said thoughtfully. "If Marcoh wants to use up the Stone, and he's going with Scar to be a doctor in Ishval, why doesn't he take it with him? I bet there's a lot of work there that could be done alchemically and the Stone would go a long way toward —"

He trailed off, seeing that both Roy and Riza were already shaking their heads. Roy's expression was grim. "The Ishvalans wouldn't permit it," he said soberly. "As much as they want to rebuild their homeland, and undo at least some of the damages of the war, they wouldn't accept help by alchemical means. Their religion forbids the use of it, citing it as an affront to their god."

"And unfortunately, I suspect the same would go for alkahestry," Riza added. "It's enough like alchemy that even though someone like May Chang worked closely with Scar for months, the rest of the Ishvalan people would resist her help."

Ed nodded, then said, "Makes sense. A self-reliant people like them would naturally prefer to rebuild using their own hands and their own methods." He broke into a grin. "And you know what? I get it. Al and I are the exact same way."

* * *

Riza had disobeyed doctor's orders once again, moving to sit with her knees drawn up on the wide windowsill as the sun sank down below the urban horizon of Central. Roy lay on his back crosswise over his bed, eyes open toward the ceiling, his fingers drumming absent rhythm patterns on his ribs.

"There's something I don't get," he said aloud, after the comfortable silence had stretched for more than twenty minutes.

Looking over from her perch, Riza smiled at the sight of him. That position, the way his forehead furrowed in thought, how his mouth pulled tight and to one side in a silent 'hmm" of puzzlement…. How many times had she seen him do this as a teenager? All of it was identical, fifteen years later. "And what's that?"

"I was talking a little with Fullmetal while you were getting battlefield treatment for the blood loss, before they shipped us over here," he said, not moving. "I wanted to know what had happened with Selim — sorry, "Pride" — and find out if there were more Homonculi we were going to get stuck hunting down."

A phantom feathery feeling tried to claw its way across Riza's limbs and up her back; she shivered, and it disappeared. _Those shadows…._ "And?"

"Ed said that Pride had started to try and possess him, like he had done with Al… and that he managed to _reverse_ the connection and alchemically invade Pride instead." He lifted a hand, one finger raised to forestall the comment her mouth was opening to make. "Believe me, it gets weirder." He paused to make sure she wasn't about to interrupt, then continued. "He's not clear on how he did it, but somehow he tore away everything alchemical that had been Pride the Homonculus and left this tiny little baby-like _thing_ , smaller than Envy at that little worm's smallest. And he just left him down there, until he could go back after Father was gone."

Riza hadn't so much twitched a muscle since he had lifted his finger. Now, she stirred uneasily. "And… when he did go back?"

"…He said he took the thing to Selim's mother." He was quiet another moment, slowly worrying the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, then added, "And all of this leads me to believe that Pride was created differently. Something like the Stone was introduced in utero, and what was born was a full-fledged Homonculus."

"So that when it was taken away, Selim reverted as close as he could to the state he'd been in when it was given to him." Riza's voice was barely above a whisper. Another shiver crawled up her spine.

"I guess? With that sort of thing, when we don't know anything about it, it's hard to know for sure. But that's not what really bothers me." His frown deepened. "If Fullmetal blasted away the Homonculus part of him… where did it go? What happened to it?"

Riza shook her head, looking back out the window. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know and I don't _want_ to know. This is all getting too dark and gruesome for my taste."

"…Sorry." He rolled over to lie on his stomach, propping himself up on both elbows. "Not being able to see gives me too much time to think. Far too much."

"And time in hospital doesn't help," she agreed. Slipping down off the window sill, she moved to sit beside him on the bed with her legs folded, still looking out the window. "At least from here, we're too far away to see the damage to Headquarters," she commented. "It was nothing short of a mess."

"I'd believe it, given the number of times I tripped over rubble before we left," Roy muttered. The fingers of one hand fidgeted absently with the bandaging wrapped around the other. "Do you think we'll get out in time to help with the cleanup at all?"

"I would imagine so." Still staring out at the darkening city, she reached over, absently beginning to thread her fingers through his hair for the second time that day. "They won't even start for a few days, until someone steps forward to take charge and that person can organize the work crews. Even after the rubble is cleared away, there's going to be months upon months of rebuilding and restoration."

They sat together, just close enough that they could spring apart if the door opened unexpectedly. After some minutes, Roy said quietly, "What you see out the window…. Can you describe it to me?"

"I can try." Riza took a moment to find a starting point. "We're on the third floor, on the west side of the building, looking toward Headquarters. It's far enough that all I can see is the top floor. In between are two- and three-storey buildings, but what stands out are the chimneys. There's lots of those, silhouetted against the sky. The sun has gone down, but it isn't fully dark. The streetlights are just beginning to turn on, so the highest point in the sky is black, fading to pink and orange, and finally the yellow glow in the streets."

"Sounds pretty," he commented. "And maybe like all that prose-writing in high school Literacy comes in handy."

She smiled, but didn't answer right away. After a moment she said, "When you get your sight back… what happens then? I know you have plans, but you haven't said anything specific, aside from 'help fix Ishval.'"

Roy's smile was enigmatic. "I haven't fully shared my plans because I haven't fully made them." He tapped his temple with a forefinger. "They're still percolating. But when I know, you'll be the first person I share with." He turned toward the edge of the bed, and the box of effects he had abandoned when the Elrics had arrived. "In the meantime, I forgot there was something I had to show you."

Riza watched, curious but silent, as he sorted through the clothes he had been wearing when they were admitted. Careful, exploring fingers found his uniform jacket by virtue of the gold braiding under the right sleeve, then searched out the left inside breast pocket. She thought perhaps he was trying to find his watch… but what he pulled out was small and white.

"I made the comment earlier that I could finally return all my pieces into play on the board," he said quietly, turning back to her, "but since the transfer, there's been one that I've kept with me."

He fumbled for her hand, found it, and pressed the little object into it. Riza thought she might already know what it was, but still smiled as she looked down at the white queen piece nestled in her palm. On the base, written in Roy's distinctive - though tinier than usual - hand was a name.

'Elizabeth.'

He was sitting perfectly still, head cocked the tiniest bit as he listened for her reaction. Riza shifted to face him, then leaned forward, hugging him as tightly as she could without injuring either of them or setting off either her wounds or the dizziness again. He returned the embrace just as fiercely.

"I missed you," she said quietly into his shoulder.

"I missed you, too, Whiskygirl." His words were half-whispered into her hair, his hand protectively on the back of her head. Strands clung to the rough bandaging, but neither of them cared. For now, it was all _right_. "Glad to have you back."

* * *

MEADOW STREET, CENTRAL CITY

0247 HOURS, APRIL 8

Night was when the hunting was best, he had decided. No one stirred out of doors, thinking they were all safe in their beds, oblivious to his passage in the dark streets. He stuck close to the inner edges of the sidewalks, in the shadows, his dark eyes roaming the streets, seeing as easily as though it were day and moving as quiet as a prayer.

He slunk past the front walk of a residence, looking up at the windows on the second floor. Even from the street, he could smell the soft scent of childhood: the talcum powder, the gentle soap for sensitive baby skin, even the milk, cookies, and toothpaste on the child's breath from its bedtime snack and teeth-brushing. The man paused, still looking up. His nose hadn't been this sensitive in the… in the _before_.

He stepped close to the wall, feeling the hunger in him writhe at the subtle child smells. It would be effortless to scale the bricks before him, to get past the window, to lean over the bed and —

The man growled to himself, the hunger raging as he forced himself to turn away. One puny toddler would not be enough to sate him. The hunger was always with him now, always hovering just out of sight in the darkest recesses of his being. Scents, sensations, and sounds called it forth into a near-unstoppable force that seemed to scream in his mind, feedfeedfeed _feedfeedFEEDNOW_.

Lots of things were new to him. The hunger, the ridiculously sensitive sense of smell, the surety in himself that most would call cocky — no, that had been there in the before.

Stalking away from the house, hands jammed into the pockets of his dark suit and shoulders riding high as he fought the hunger, he bared his gritted teeth. How much of a monster had he become that he had contemplated taking a mere child? _Not enough_ , he reminded himself firmly. _Not nearly enou—_

The thought screeched to a grinding halt at the same time his feet froze in midstep. He turned slowly, looking back at the house, eyes wide with the light of a new idea. The child would be nothing… but a child had to come from somewhere. A child had _parents_.

There was a roaring in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the natural world, and he found himself moving automatically as the hunger took over. He fell back into it, let it swallow him whole and watched the entire scene unfold.

His hands effortlessly gripped the rough bricks of the house and they seemed to flow under him as he climbed easily, lizardlike, to the second floor. He hung there, staring through the glass at the sleeping boy in the little room beyond, watching the flesh of his left hand crowd in against the wooden frame. The disjointed words of the hunger ran through his mind, sounding sibilant in the roaring. _Slip slip slip right through inside get in get in easy now the smallest crack the smallest hole not safe not safe you're never safe…._

And then he was inside. The tiny form under the sheets didn't move, didn't stir, didn't wake as he leaned low over the little bed. The small pouting mouth hung open _milk cookies toothpaste_ with childlike snores issuing from it. The nose was small and button, the eyelashes long and a dark honey blond that matched the boy's hair. The man reached out, the long index finger of one hand trailing gently, almost tenderly down the child's cheek.

The boy's eyes opened sleepily, and the man's mind stretched out…. Instead of screaming at the sight of a stranger in his bedroom after midnight, the boy smiled drowsily and uttered a soft "Hey, mister…." like he might have to a friendly oldster on the street.

It didn't take long. Five minutes after he slipped inside the windows, the man started for the bedroom across the hall, where a man and woman slept peacefully. He went to the woman's side first, eyes glittering coldly in the dark as he took in her sleeping form in its innocently pale pink nightgown, her honey-blonde hair _liketheboyliketheboyliketheboy_ splayed over the pillow behind her.

He didn't bother to wake her, or her husband when it was his turn. Half an hour after first breaching the house, he slipped down the stairs to the kitchen. The man was almost entirely himself again, and could feel the stain, could feel the drying wetness on his lips and chin and neck. The suit was going to be a lost cause, but he didn't care. The blood wouldn't show against the dark fabric, not to anyone he happened to pass on his way back.

The man washed his face and neck at the kitchen sink, wiping down the metal faucet and blotting his face with a clean white towel. He was turning to leave when the previous day's newspaper, abandoned on the table, caught his attention.

'AFTERMATH: BATTLE OF CENTRAL,' the headline shouted. Underneath it, in smaller letters, 'Several leaders in conflict remain in hospital.'

He skimmed the article, abandoning the towel on the tabletop. Edward and Alphonse Elric were expected to recover, Gen. Olivier Armstrong and Maj. Alex Armstrong were recovering privately at their family residence, and — oh _ho_ , this was interesting…. Col. Roy Mustang and 1st Lt. Riza Hawkeye had been treated for mild to serious wounds and were recovering in hospital.

That _name_. His lips curled back involuntarily from his teeth, and the freshly satisfied hunger twitched deep in the pit of his belly. How he would like to… would _love_ to…. Goodness knew there were times he would have loved to just wrap his hands around the man's throat, but to… oh, yes. This would be so much better, so much more delicious of a revenge. Literally.

He was surprised to realize he was panting, the rage and his newfound gift combining to make him nearly aroused with the desire for revenge. He wondered if the wounds inflicted on Mustang were the mild or serious ones… he hoped for the serious. It would make him all that more docile when the man came for him. And if just the thought of revenge brought him nearly to the point of sexual need, then perhaps in the aftermath of it, he would exact another type of revenge on that pretty little Lieutenant that always followed Mustang around. He'd never liked her anyway.

Grinning with this new plan, he turned toward the window… and realized he had spent much more time standing here, lost in thought, than he had realized. Sunrise was still an hour away, but his hypersensitive vision could see the sky beginning to turn grey instead of night-black. He would need to hurry.

The hunger settled back into its hiding place, waiting to be called forward again. Revenge would have to wait.


	2. Bared Teeth

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and welcome back to Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul. I've just come off a crazy busy weekend, so I won't make this long, but thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy. As a warning, this story is rated M for language, violence, sexual content and blood._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Two - Bared Teeth**

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL

2343 HOURS, APRIL 8

She had fallen asleep an hour earlier, drifting off peacefully and, he knew, looking entirely unlike the well-put-together Lieutenant Hawkeye that was a familiar sight in the halls of Central and East City. Gone would be the perfectly calm expression, the perfectly contained clipped-up hair, the unerring efficiency and professional drive, and in their place would be a woman who was still half-exhausted from the events of the Promised Day.

From the way her breathing sounded, he could tell her mouth was open; he gave it maybe half an hour before she started snoring like she denied she did. His mouth twitched in a smile at that thought. He had, in an effort to make her smile on their first night here, reserved the right to reach across the space between their beds and poke her in the ribs if her snoring got too bad.

He let his imagination draw the rest of her now, from previous experience. Lying on her side or stomach, one arm tucked beneath that lithe body and the other beneath the pillow. One leg curled up, the other stretched out and tangled in the blankets that invariably ended up around her hips no matter how she wrapped them around her shoulders when she first lay down.

No, wait…. With her injuries, sleeping on her side or stomach had been expressly forbidden by the doctors. She would be sleeping on her back — meaning she was _more_ liable to snore tonight — and when she did that, one arm was always draped loosely across her ribs, the other thrown up so that her face, turned to the side, almost touched her fingers. Yes, _that_ was how it would be tonight.

Settling himself back in his own bed with a smile, he let his sightless eyes fall closed. Sleep did not come easily now, being able to hear, feel, smell, and taste on a greater scale. It had only been a few days and already his other senses were ramping up in receptiveness, at times making him rather antsy.

Like tonight, there was a strange smell he hadn't yet encountered in the hospital, one that seemed oddly out of place. Something that smelled like… he couldn't quite tell. It was dirt, and age, and dank stone that hadn't seen sunlight in decades. In one way, it reminded him of the room under Central he had never seen, the room where the Homonculi's Father had used him as part of his national transmutation circle. Roy supposed, in some corner of his mind, that he should feel fear, feel anxiety associated with that smell creeping up on him.

But tonight…. Roy yawned, nestling back farther into the clean sheets, listening to the way they rustled. He sighed contentedly, then listened as the sound swelled in his ears. The long _haaaa_ of exhale, the fading _sshhhhffft sshhhhffft_ as his shoulders found a comfortable position on the starched white linen, and finally the soft sound of Riza's voice as she murmured to herself in her sleep.

He tried to rouse himself out of deepening lethargy at this last, thinking that if she was talking in her sleep, she was dreaming and that dreams were a dangerous thing this soon after a major event like the Promised Day…. But the fatigue was quickly overtaking him and he felt himself sinking underneath its influence. The sounds swelled in his ears again, like an image in a fisheye lens, distorted and odd… but he could hear Riza's breathing resume its normal, unhurried pace as the murmuring subsided. Feeling every muscle relax, one by one, he drifted into deep, dreamless sleep with a final thought….

 _Damn, I love her…._

* * *

The smell of him was unmistakable, even among all the myriad other scents. The man supposed that he had always known Roy Mustang smelled like that, smelled of ink and paper from his endless hours of research, of smoke and fire from the results of that research, of the fabric and metal that comprised the Amestrian military uniform and its various adornments. There was another, fainter scent that was mixed in with these, though, something like vanilla, brown sugar, soft white soap… and blood.

Lots of blood.

He clung to the wall just outside the hospital room window, black eyes peering over the edge at the two sleeping soldiers. The source of the smell of blood was evident: bandages wrapped around each of Mustang's hands, and in the farther bed, bandaging around the neck and left shoulder of Riza Hawkeye.

Mustang wasn't asleep, he knew; he still sat upright, staring at nothing as though lost in thought… or maybe…. The man stared hard at him and realized with something of a jolt that the normally dark eyes were greyed out to literally a shadow of their former selves.

The normally sharp-eyed Colonel had somehow lost his vision. How very interesting….

The man's tongue darted out, moistening dry, papery lips and running over his teeth. He could feel the saliva gathering, pooling in the hollow of his lower jaw behind his teeth, and he knew on some instinctive level what that saliva would do to either of them. With Mustang's eyes out of commission, it was one less hazard to worry about, and getting close would be even easier.

His sharp hearing picked up murmuring from the other windows looking out over the hospital grounds, and his head abruptly whipped around. A young voice, male, answered by a similar one that sounded infinitely tired. Both were familiar, but more so the first.

Slipping fully beneath the level of the windowsill, the man crept along the smooth stone of the wall toward a window some twenty metres away where the voices came from. It hadn't been so long since he last saw Edward Elric, but there again was another sore spot. Mustang, Hawkeye, Elrics… all of them were so far beneath him now, farther than they ever had been before.

He made it to the window without incident and immediately saw why it had been so easy for him to hear quiet voices at such a distance: the glass pane had been slid open, only the screen barring access to the interior.

"It'd be really nice to surprise Winry when we get back," the younger boy was saying, his voice full of fatigue… and a smile. "Just walk up to the front door like I've had my real body this whole time."

"All I told her when I called is that we were both okay, just taking time to recover in hospital," the older one - _Fullmetal_ , the man thought hatefully - replied, obviously grinning. "She might glean from that that you've gotten your body back, but if not, it would make a good surprise. If she cries, maybe she'll at least be smiling."

"Wouldn't she be anyway?" Teasing had crept into the younger's tone now. "I thought you promised that the next time you made her cry, it'd be tears of -"

There was a quiet _whump_ sound; a pillow striking a body, followed by the younger brother's laughter. "You're lucky you're still so scrawny," Fullmetal grumbled darkly, though the man's sharp ears picked out the faint fond undertone. "Otherwise I would've tried to knock you out of bed."

The man's lips widened in a sinister smile. Winry… the _girl_ , yes…. Personally, the thought of Elric blood did not sing as sweetly to him than that of Mustang or even Hawkeye, but the girl's…. He supposed that was a trait he had gleaned from the _before_ ; a weakness for females. Perhaps, should he need the Elrics for any sort of reason, the girl could be used to ensure their cooperation….

He licked his lips again, listening as the boys' conversation continued and eventually trailed away. The younger brother fell asleep first, his breathing becoming slow, deep, and even. Fullmetal was obviously still awake and, from the sound of it, working on something. Pages turned, then the scribble of a pen, more pages, more scribbling. Thoughtful muttering about this alchemical precept or that… high-level precepts that a boy of fifteen or sixteen really had no business knowing.

At last, the books closed with the soft slap of collìding piles of paper and there came the sound of Fullmetal settling into his bed before his breathing matched his brother's.

The man had no idea how long he had been hanging about outside this window, but he had long since come to the conclusion that sneaking in here would be far easier than trying to slip through the window of such a notorious light sleeper as Roy Mustang.

Raising himself so that his eyes peeped over the edge of the sill, he confirmed that both Elric boys were asleep before he allowed his body to stretch out, watching it filter through the fine mesh of the window screen. He coalesced again on the other side, his gleaming eyes watching the boys.

The younger - strange; the man had never seen him as anything than a supernaturally animated suit of armour - was emaciated and pallid, his long hair lying limp on the pillow around his face. A gaunt hand rested on the sheets over the wasted midriff in a position that mirrored his brother's in the opposite bed. Both boys had unconsciously turned their face toward the other, as though they had fallen asleep looking at each other.

The man slid soundlessly up between the beds, his tongue darting out once again to moisten dry lips. Not much left to the younger boy's body now, nothing worth the man's time. But the elder….

The scent of blood already lay heavily on Fullmetal: in his hair, on the bandages wrapped around his forehead and left bicep, and the clothes stored in a cardboard box beside the bed. The coat draped over the box drew the man's attention; it was long, black, covered in touch-transfer bloodstains and the scent of the younger Elric… as well as Mustang.

Ah, of course. The Flame Colonel's ever-present black coat.

Smiling slyly, the man took up the garment and held it to his sensitive nose. The smell of the blood called him… and he was somewhat surprised to discover that not all if it smelled of Mustang. A hefty percent of it - on the sleeves and left hip-height area was distinctly Hawkeye. How very interesting….

Folding the coat over his arm, the man turned toward the door and the light spilling under it. When he opened it, though he stood framed in the lights from the hallway, he cast no shadow on the floor of the room.

The halls of the hospital were deserted this late at night. He slipped along the passage, past a few closed doors and some open ones. He could hear the nurses and doctors at their duty station, chatting idly. They were out of sight farther down the hall in the opposite direction, but their voices echoed softly from the off-white walls.

He didn't bother to count doors or measure distance to find his destination. He simply followed his over-sharp nose along the scent trail of smoke, vanilla, and the coppery tang of blood.

Their door was closed, but unlocked, and it opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. The man took a silent step inside… and promptly froze at the sight of Mustang's open, blindly staring eyes. He was still sitting upright as he had been before, arms draped loosely over partially drawn-up knees. His face was turned toward the bed beside him, his expression that of someone listening intently.

Yet he was not listening to the man. The clouded eyes were fixed on the sleeping form of Hawkeye, lying comfortably on her back. She lay with one arm draped with effortless grace over the ribs on her left side, the other thrown up so that her face, turned slightly to the right, nearly rested on her loosely curled fingers.

A noiseless smile spread across the man's mouth, his teeth baring as an idea occurred. The taste for girl — no, _woman_ — flesh was in his mouth, and better yet, within his reach. And oh… what it would do to Roy Mustang, if….

He glided deeper into the room, his eyes glittering as they remained fixed on the Colonel. _Sleep,_ he thought. _Lie back, relax, sleep…. She is safe, she is strong. Safe strong safe safe…._ He kept a tether on the next thought, not allowing it to transfer.

 _She is_ delicious.

Mustang's eyelids began to drop low, and he lay back in his bed, a faint smile playing around his lips. Contentment settled around him like a light fog, and he breathed a soft sigh. Sleep was closing around him, masking his attentiveness as the man slid close beside the nearer bed.

If he had cast a shadow, it would have fallen on the sleeping woman's face. The man bent, bracing one knee on the mattress, eyes going to the white bandaging around that graceful neck. On some subconscious level, she must have sensed his presence; she frowned slightly, unintelligible murmurs spilling from her lips as she began to slip toward waking. He could feel Mustang begin to fight the influence, alerted by the soft sounds.

The man's fingers gripped her chin lightly, and he renewed the assertion to sleep, both on her and the man in the next bed. Hawkeye's furrowed forehead smoothed, and the last mumble diffused into the silence. Mustang settled back, heavy eyelids falling shut as he gave in and his mind sank into the oblivion of sleep.

A thought, crystalline clear and distinct even through the fog of fatigue, rose to the forefront of the alchemist's fading consciousness and brought the strange man's head snapping up.

 _Damn_ _, I love her…._ it said, no louder than a whisper, but seeming to scream in the stillness.

A wide grin split the man's mouth, his teeth glinting in the light from the window. He had known Mustang certainly cared deeply for his subordinates, but _love_ …. Now, _that_ was interesting indeed. What kind of love, he wondered. Platonic? Fraternal? No, he could already tell it was neither of those, simply from the inflection of that one thread of thought. It was nothing short of romantic love, no question there.

Which meant, while he had fully intended to use the Lieutenant to hurt her superior, he now had the power to wound Mustang more deeply than he might ever have hoped.

He leaned low over her, nose sniffing delicately at the bandaging around her neck. Antiseptic, adhesive, cotton… blood. His heightened sense of smell picked out the angry red line, no longer than an inch, over the vein where her lifeblood flowed. The steady beat of her heart shuttled it from valve to valve, from heart to brain and back again. He felt heat gather in the front of his trousers at this closeness, at the momentousness… and on an impulse, he trailed a long, lascivious lick along the gently curving line of Hawkeye's jaw.

She frowned slightly, a small sound escaping her throat, but she did not slip from under the shroud of sleep. The man seemed to remember hearing that she had always been a rather deep sleeper; probably something that had worked in her favour in the battle camps of Ishval.

Smiling, letting his jaw drop open wide, he leaned forward and sank wet, gleaming fangs through the stiff bandaging and into her throat, on either side of that thin, healing slit in the otherwise flawless skin.

She inhaled sharply, aware even through slumber that something was happening. The man pressed heavy hands to her shoulders, holding her down against a writhe that was more instinct than intention. If she moved too strongly, the sharp fangs would rip through the flesh and leave her bleeding out, rather than the trickle he intended. To her credit, she still tried to fight, but to no avail.

In the next bed, Mustang remained fully asleep, completely motionless, and totally unaware.

The blood began to seep into the bandaging, and the man's tongue swiped across the rough fabric. The taste of it was coloured with the alcoholic fumes of antiseptic and the tang of adhesive from the medical tape holding the bandage fast, but he ignored it. The blood taste was prevalent.

His lips closed around the slowly reddening splotch in an experimental suck, and Hawkeye attempted to squirm again. This time, the sound that she made was nearly a pleasured half-moan, her mind translating the man's actions as something done in darkened bedrooms out of passion.

He felt the heat in his trousers again, more beginning pool in his hips.

As he took more of the blood, he began to realize another aftertaste. Not like the other two that were layered over top of it… this one was imbued _within_ the blood. The actual flavour was unidentifiable - certainly not the copper-iron taste of blood nor any kind of food or drink. It simply _was_.

It wasn't strong; the man would have called it 'faded,' as though with age. A patina of dust on a bottle of fine wine. The first impression he was struck with, lapping thoughtfully at the blood-stained bandages, was pens. Pens soaked in ink and used to doodle idly on skin in schoolrooms by bored children. The second feeling was of heat, the sensation so vivid that the blood seemed to, absurdly, turn to hot sauce on his tongue. This was followed quickly by an aftertaste that caused the man to pull away, his nose wrinkling. It was faint, even fainter than the other two, but the taste of smoke was definite. Not cigarette smoke; wood smoke, as though the blood had stood beside a blazing bonfire.

Licking red smears from his lips, the man stared down thoughtfully at her, then turned his gaze toward the bed across the room. The saying went that where there was smoke, there was fire… and Mustang certainly had that in spades. But how that would have transferred to the Lieutenant…?

The hunger coiled in his stomach, reminding him that there was a meal to finish…. He bent back to her, though now he pulled the bandaging aside; he couldn't take the aftertaste it afforded anymore. Hawkeye didn't struggle near so much this time, but something held him back from taking too much more.

He could feel the life in her at a dimmer glow than what it should have been. She had been wounded already, and lost blood… and this was certainly not helping. While he wanted Mustang to hurt… to bleed her dry would make it far too easy. He pulled back, smiling in satisfaction to himself, and tossed the black overcoat he still held onto the bedside visitors' chair.

When he left, ten minutes after he entered, he left her alive.

* * *

MEADOW STREET, CENTRAL CITY

1007 HOURS, APRIL 9

He wasn't entirely sure of the last time he had felt this banged up and ill-used, but Alex Louis Armstrong supposed it must have been when he went toe-to-toe with the bull-man: the human chimera Loa, in Dublith.

Checking over the clipboard in his hands, he rolled his left shoulder experimentally; the muscles and tendons creaked, protesting the dislocation they had suffered, but the loosening feeling in the taut tissue was gratifying. Another day or two and the worst of the aches would begin to recede.

The paperwork in his hand, detailing the crime that had been committed at this otherwise picturesque house, saddened him, caused a sentimental ache just left of centre in his barrel chest… but as the car pulled up to the curb ten feet away, Armstrong breathed deep and carefully set his emotions aside. Some could do that much easier than he could; Mustang, certainly, and Hawkeye the easiest of all, with her perfect poker face. For him, it was a conscious effort that was necessary perhaps a little too often.

He stepped up just shy of the curb as two men exited the car. "Second Lieutenant Breda; Master Sergeant Fuery. I'm glad you could join me."

Breda smiled slyly as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Like I told the Colonel; we're considered deserters," he said. "At least until West and South Cities 'find' our paperwork that 'got lost.' Until then, neither of us have an official rank."

"But I suppose you could consider us civilian consultants," Fuery put in. At his feet, Black Hayate gave two short yaps as if in confirmation; to his credit, Breda only twitched a little.

Smiling down at the dog, Armstrong closed his file folder. "Am I to take it that you're dogsitting while Lieutenant Hawkeye is in hospital, Fuery?"

"Yes, sir. Someone had to look after him, since the doctor won't allow him to stay with the Lieutenant while she recovers." Fuery's smile was a proud one. "I was helping teach him how to track before Führer Bradley split the team up. I thought I'd bring him along in case we needed a good nose here."

"Good thinking." Turning toward the doorway, he ducked through it into the house's entryway. "Come; I'll show you what we've got."

They followed, but Breda's smile had slipped into a look of concern. Armstrong could tell he had noticed his stiff and careful movements; when he had bent to avoid the doorframe, he had dipped at the knees rather than bend at the waist or bow his head more than an inch. "Major… pardon my asking, but should you really be at work? Last I'd heard, you took a pretty hard beating. You should be —"

He stopped as the big man paused, one foot on the first stair. Blue eyes held him in serious regard for a long moment… and then crinkled at the corners in his familiar smile. "I'm a little sore, but it's to be expected and it's nothing that will prevent me from merely touring a crime scene. I'll be fine." He started up the stairs. "I've sustained worse injuries in spirited boxing matches… and besides, I'm one of the few people the Investigations Office had to spare, given the circumstances."

"What exactly happened here?" Fuery asked, tone indicating that he didn't quite want to know. Black Hayate climbed the steps ahead of him, his nose already sniffing busily.

"I won't lie and and say it's a run-of-the-mill crime," Armstrong answered soberly. He stopped on the second floor, waiting for the other men to join him on the landing. "What I'm about to show you is both gruesome and disturbing… but I want a second opinion and with the investigations you've assisted in out East, you're the most qualified I could think of on short notice."

Fuery swallowed hard at the word 'disturbing,' but Breda's serious face merely turned grim. "And what exactly is it you're planning to show us?"

"Homicide, gentlemen." Armstrong clenched one hand into a fist, barely aware he was doing it. "Triple homicide."

So saying, he led them to the first door on the right and stepped inside. Hayate would go no further, crouching low with his ears pinned back; a sound halfway between a whine and a growl slipped from between partially bared teeth. Breda and Fuery stepped warily around the dog and followed Armstrong in… and stared. Fuery clapped a hand over his mouth, and Armstrong found himself hoping it was merely shock and that the young man wasn't about to contaminate the crime scene. Breda grimaced in distaste before swallowing hard and forcing himself to speak.

"That's… a lot of blood." His gaze turned to Armstrong. "Who were they?"

He consulted the clipboard. "A Mr. and Mrs. Titus Jameson. He worked for a branch of First Bank of Amestria, and she was a schoolteacher. When neither of them appeared for work, people began making calls. A pair of MPs sent to do a welfare check found them…." He hesitated. "Them, as well as their four-year-old son, in the next room down the hall. All of them in the same condition."

He watched the horror grow on their faces, knowing it had looked much the same on his own. Breda breathed out a curse. "The kid, too…." he muttered. His eyes went back to the bed, where the dead man and woman lay. "And the same was done to him?"

Armstrong nodded, a feeling creeping over him - not for the first time that morning - that he hadn't felt in seven or eight years. Not since Ishval. Small bodies, horribly wounded…. He cleared his throat gruffly and forced himself to speak. " _Ahhhrrmm!_ Yes, and we believe there was only one intruder. A towel was used in the kitchen to clean himself up, but so far, we haven't found any other evidence. Our next step will be to determine if Mr. Jameson or his wife had any enemies, but I suspect we won't find much."

Fuery stirred, one hand still over his mouth as he spoke. "I can help with that," he said softly. He kept his gaze firmly away from the bed.

"As I'd hoped you would " Armstrong said gently. He turned his attention to the red-haired man still staring grimly at the bodies. "Second Lieu -" He stopped, remembering that use of rank was not exactly mandatory in the current situation. "Breda, if you could get in touch with Second Lieutenant Falman and explain the case to him? He left on an overnight train back to the North last night, but he should have arrived by now."

"Sure. I think he could use something to take his mind off having to go back to that frozen wasteland." He hesitated a moment, visibly plucking up his courage, and then took several careful steps up to the bedside. Armstrong watched as the normally laid-back man's face drained of colour.

"...Breda?" Fuery ventured warily. "What's -"

Moving faster than Armstrong would have thought he could, Breda took two backward steps away from the bodies, then turned and bolted from the room. Forgetting his own fear, Fuery rushed after him, Armstrong trailing at a more sedate pace as their footsteps pounded down the stairs and out the front door. As he himself descended, he could hear Fuery speaking indistinctly as the sounds of Breda losing his last meal came from outside.

He found them on the front steps, Breda still hanging over the wrought-iron handrail, face-to-foliage with the Jameson's hedge. Fuery was patting him awkwardly on the back, looking unnerved.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Breda straightened part of the way, grimacing. "Sorry, sir, I just — I've never seen anything that bad before. And if it was done to a little kid, too…." He looked up at Armstrong. "I'll tell you right now, I don't think you're looking for anyone that might've had a beef with the Jamesons. You're looking for a full-fledged psychopath who probably isn't going to stop here."

Armstrong felt his stomach sink, and wondered for an instant if he might not join Breda in leaning over the railing. "Somehow, I was hoping you wouldn't say that, but I knew you would." He sighed heavily, looking back through the open doorway to the stairs to the second floor. "We'll need to look into the records and see if this same sort of attack has occurred anywhere else, but I suspect it hasn't. We would have heard about it by now."

Standing straight, one hand still on the railing for balance, Breda nodded grimly. "Forget the background check, Major. Fuery and I'll skip straight to combing through records: similar incidents, recent prison escapes or releases, that sort of thing."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Armstrong paused a moment, then added. "If you don't mind, I have one more minor favour to ask. If you can, don't inform Colonel Mustang of this just yet. He has enough concerns at the moment without adding this to the mix. Once he and Lieutenant Hawkeye are released from hospital, we'll see about bringing them into it."

"Just a minute, sir," Fuery said. "What exactly was done to these people? I noticed you haven't said anything about a cause of death."

Breda shuddered, and Armstrong's face paled just noticeably. "That will have to be one of the things we investigate," he rumbled quietly. "You couldn't see it from the doorway, except for all the blood.

"Their throats were, quite literally, ripped out."


	3. Out of the Abyss

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Hopefully you're all enjoying Tainted Blood as much as I enjoyed my region's first taste of snow this week (which is a lot). Friendly reminder: this fanfic deals with things like blood (lots of it), murder (also lots of it), foul language, and sexual content later on. Please consider this your warning. Otherwise, enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Three - Out of the Abyss**

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL

10:07 A.M., APRIL 9

She stood in the early morning sunlight filtering into the room, watching impassively with her arms folded as Edward rubbed at his freshly stinging cheek. "That," Izumi informed him, "was for a completely reckless transmutation that could have left both you _and_ your brother in the Gate."

The boy's blond bangs curtained his reddening face as he directed his gaze to the floor. "I know, Teacher. I'm sorry."

Just as it had in Dublith when they told her about their attempt at human transmutation, the hug came to him as a complete surprise. Izumi sat on the side of her former student's hospital bed and held him to her.

"And this is for succeeding. That a student of mine outsmarted the Truth… I couldn't be more proud."

Ed hugged her back then, and Izumi was pleased to notice how different it felt from last time. Instead of one flesh and blood arm and one made of cold, unyielding metal, there were two human arms wrapped around her slim frame.

She looked to where Alphonse - with his gaunt, scruffy, _human_ body - slept in the next bed. "How's your brother doing?"

Sitting back, Ed smiled fondly at his sibling. "Good. Sleeping a lot, as you can tell, but he's got a lot to make up for. Being so scrawny, he gets tired easily and he's only allowed a liquid diet right now. But I think he'll bounce back pretty fast."

One golden eye cracked open, and Al grinned. "I'd fight Father all over again for a whole apple pie all to myself," he said. He sat up carefully, emaciated arms shaking as he propped himself against the pillow. The laughter his comment had caused was short-lived.

"I'll make sure it's the first thing Winry and Granny serve for dinner when we get back," Ed promised. "Or maybe Mrs. Hughes will pay us a visit before we leave, and bring one with her."

Al's stomach gurgled audibly and he grimaced. "If you keep talking about it, I'm never going to last that long," he groaned.

Getting to her feet, Izumi crossed to where she had set down the small bag she had been carrying when she arrived. "In the meantime…." She produced a pair of thin scissors. "I think it's time someone did something about that mop you call hair."

It took a few minutes to get the boy situated, with a towel around his shoulders. Izumi eyed his hair critically, before beginning a straight-across cut just above his shoulders. Shaggy blond locks fell into the wastebasket she had positioned behind his back. "Tell me about your plans," she said almost absently, dark eyes focussed on her task. "What are you planning to do once you're discharged from the hospital?"

Ed's reply was immediate. "I'm leaving the State Alchemist program," he stated flatly. "I only needed the resources I got from them to get Al's and my bodies back, and I managed at least three-quarters of that." He rapped his knuckles against his metal left shin, then broke into a grin. "Besides, what's the use of a State Alchemist that can't use alchemy?"

Nodding approval, Izumi trimmed another half inch from Al's rapidly shortening hair. "Good. It was never a good place for you to be, anyway. A shame that a talent like yours had to be sacrificed, but I'd say there's no better reason for doing it."

Her former student shrugged. "I've still got my mind, and I understand all the concepts that the Truth shoved in there when we attempted human transmutation," he said. "I'm okay with just doing the research side of things."

"And I can handle the transmutation side of things," Al added in satisfaction. "We've always worked best as a team."

"That you have," was the quiet agreement. Izumi's smile was small, but proud.

Ed watched her for a moment, as the scissors clipped the hair short around Al's left ear. "I… had the thought, Teacher, that… well, if giving up my alchemy could bring Al's body back…." He faltered as she looked up, her smile disappearing and dark eyes turning hard. He swallowed, then pressed on; one did _not_ show weakness to Izumi Curtis. "What if you gave up yours to get back the organs that the Truth took from you?"

Returning her attention to her task, she continued on calmly. "I think you already know the answer to that." She shifted the scissors to the hair over Al's right ear. "Al's body was still in the Gate, but it was being supported by you. Without support, even if my missing organs were there, they could be completely unusable." With a final snip, she took a step back to survey her work so far. "And I wouldn't want them back if they _were_ viable. They're the price I paid for what I did, and I've accepted that."

Edward nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor with a small, fatalistic smile. "I figured that's what you'd say. But I had to ask anyway."

"I wonder if Colonel Mustang will be able to get his sight back, then?" Al said aloud, his tone curious. "He wants to wait for Lieutenant Havoc, but if he waits too long…."

"His case is slightly different," Izumi pointed out. "He still has the actual organs of his eyeballs, just the ability to see has been lost. Some sort of retinal issue, maybe."

Frowning, Ed flopped backward on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "His eyes were really dark before. Almost black. Now they just kind of look grey. How much vision do you lose if cataracts get bad enough?"

"It may be that," Izumi allowed, repositioning Al's head so that he looked downward, giving her better access to the back of his scalp. "Or the lens inside that allows for light refraction. I'm not an optometrist; I don't know. But the bottom line is that the damage can probably be repaired, whereas mine can't."

She worked in the silence for a moment, before asking, "How are the Colonel and his assistant doing? I only caught a few glimpses of her, but I know she had a lot of blood on her. Was it hers?"

Ed nodded grimly. "Without getting too much into it, she got cut to force the Colonel into committing human transmutation," he said, watching his former Master's face darken into a scowl. "When that didn't work, they committed it through him as a proxy. But because of that cut, she lost a lot of blood. So she's in here to recover from that, while he has stab wounds to his hands, his sight missing, and I think he said his back is all scraped up. Something about Bradley sent him flying along the floor." He shrugged. "I was gone by then."

Al lifted one skinny arm, pointing to his left. "They're both in a room about ten doors down. We visited them yesterday, and they seem like they're doing really well."

She nodded, murmuring a soft "I see. That's good." before making a few final snips. "There. I believe that's how you had it before." Taking the towel, she nudged the boy's shoulder. "Go take a look."

With his brother's help, Alphonse moved carefully into the bathroom… and broke into a wide grin as he caught his reflection. "It looks great! Thank you so much, Teacher!"

Packing the scissors back into her bag, Izumi smiled. "My pleasure. Now just make sure that you drag your brother down to Dublith soon so that I can feed you. You've gotten too skinny."

Looping the bag over shoulder, she turned back to the boys as they emerged from the bathroom. "I need to get moving; I dropped in this early because Sig and I have a train to catch, and I wanted to say goodbye before we left."

She stepped close, folding both boys into a hug, feeling them return it with welcome warmth. "Try to stay out of trouble, both of you," she warned, standing straight. "If I hear so much as a single whisper that either of you are stirring things up again, I'll come back here and kick both your asses. Clear?"

Both Elrics grinned at her, totally disregarding the threat though they knew it held a high degree of truth. "Got it!"

She left the room without looking back, though part of her - the part that had unconsciously adopted the pair as her own - struggled with it. She gripped her bag's carrying strap a little harder, turning toward the nurses' station. She'd see the boys again, she knew, before long and under much better circumstances.

Izumi paused at the intersection of corridors marked with the large nurses' desk, looking off down the corridor by five doors or so. Perhaps….

"We have a train to catch," Sig reminded her from his place in a chair against the wall. Supportive as he was of her health problems, the poor man hated both hospitals and goodbyes, and had elected to wait for her.

"I know." She held up a finger for him to stay put. "This won't take more than a minute or two."

She found the door marked with the double name tags of 'Mustang, R.' and 'Hawkeye, R.', and knocked softly. An equally quiet "Come in" sounded from inside and she pushed the door open.

The blonde woman in the bed nearest the door was obviously still asleep, so she kept her voice low. "Sorry if I woke you," she told the man sitting cross-legged in the far bed. "I'm Izumi Curtis, Colonel. The Elric brothers' teacher?"

His face brightened in recognition. "Oh! Yes, I remember." His head turned in the direction of the other bed, a faint smile tracing his lips. "Don't worry about waking Hawkeye; if Ishval taught me anything, it's that she won't wake for anything short of orders or artillery fire."

She smiled at the small joke, moving to stand beside the window. Even if the Lieutenant were a deep sleeper, holding a conversation over her head held a chance for waking her, and from the look of it, the woman deserved every bit of sleep she was getting. "I just came by to see how the two of you were recovering," she said, her voice still low. "I seem to remember that you both had some nasty injuries, aside from your blindness."

Mustang's answering grin was boyishly lopsided and slightly self-deprecating. It was easy to see where his charmer's reputation found a foothold. "We're doing all right," he said. "All I've got aside from the blindness is a pair of through and through stab wounds to the palms and a good amount of road rash on my back. Bradley knocked me flat and I skidded a fair distance on a stone floor."

Nodding in sympathy, Izumi looked back to the blonde woman still asleep across the room. "And your Lieutenant? From what the boys told me, she's lucky to be alive."

He sobered in the space of a blink. His eyes, closed until now, opened to show - as Edward had said - clouded grey irises that had once been, Izumi thought, a rather striking near-black.

"Yes," he said, head turning toward his Lieutenant. "She is at that."

He recounted, briefly, what the gold-toothed doctor had had done to her, and with every word, Izumi's spine grew colder with a terrible chill.

They were quiet a moment when he finished, Izumi's brow slowly drawing low. "I don't mean to pry but, with all the blood she lost, has she had a transfusion? She's still quite pale."

There was a sudden tension on Mustang's shoulders, the posture of a guard dog listening hard at an indistinct sound. "...She has," he said slowly. "She told me yesterday she's not back to her usual colour yet, but she didn't say it was that bad. Given her tendency for keeping quiet about illness or injury, that's not unusual, though."

Leaving her bag on the windowsill, Izumi went to the foot of the Lieutenant's bed, taking her chart from its place and scanning the doctors' notes. "'One unit of blood administered over four hours at admission,'" she murmured, reading aloud to herself. "'Observe twenty-four hours, then administer second unit if needed.'"

Mustang was still holding his on-guard posture. "She was perfectly alert yesterday," he said, his tone under careful control. "She still had the occasional dizzy spell, but we were told to expect that."

"That would be normal," Izumi agreed, replacing the chart. "But I don't like how pale she is just now. If you don't mind, I'd like to wake her."

She saw the indecision on his face; after a battle like they had been through, he likely wanted to let Hawkeye get as much rest as possible…. "Before you do," he said at last, "I think I'd like to know what makes you such an authority on things like this."

Izumi smiled tightly, moving up beside the bed. "I know a thing or two about losing blood," she said grimly.

She shook Hawkeye's shoulder gently, calling "Lieutenant? Lieutenant, can you hear me?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mustang twitch, but ignored it. Hawkeye frowned slightly in her sleep, but her eyes remained closed. Izumi switched from shoulder-shaking to tapping the blonde woman's cheek with an open palm.

"Lieutenant, I need you to open your eyes, please." When this produced only a deeper frown and soft murmuring, Izumi paused, brushing a section of Hawkeye's blonde hair away from her face. Her hand pulled away for another, stronger cheek tap… and stared. Without another word, she reached over and hit the call button that would bring the nurse.

Mustang was listening intently and now shifted to the edge of his bed. "What's going on?"

"You said she was a deep sleeper, but I doubt you meant this deep," Izumi said, distractedly. "There's blood on the bandaging around her neck, but its dark. Old, not fresh. She's not bleeding right now."

Mustang scrambled to his feet. "How much?" he bit out.

The door opened, and the nurse didn't even have time to speak before the scene that greeted her wiped the pleasant smile from her face. Wide blue eyes took in the stiffly standing blind man, the stern-faced woman with braided hair, and the blood on the bandages of the still woman in the bed.

"I'll get the doctor," she said, before spinning on her heel and hurrying off down the hallway.

Hawkeye was still murmuring, as though in deep sleep, and Izumi stood straight. Reaching out, she took hold of Roy's wrist, tugging him forward. "Here; keep trying to wake her. Maybe she'll listen to you. I'm going to get something that might help. Just keep trying."

She didn't pause to make sure he found his way to his Lieutenant, just headed out the door at a brisk walk and back toward the waiting area. Sig had seen the nurse go running, and realized something was wrong. He slowed at the sight of his wife.

She wasted no time. "Pills."

Bless his heart, he didn't stop to ask questions, just dug in the pocket of his pants for the little bottle of life savers he carried on her behalf.

* * *

She was aware, though vaguely, of the comforting weight of his hand on her cheek, like he sometimes did when he kissed her. The hand from before was gone, the one that had patted and shook her when all she wanted to do was _sleep_ ….

"Riza…." His voice was far away, and the little smile that had been forming at his touch melted into another frown. "Riza, come on, time to wake up."

Anger flared, ready to flood her veins...and then faded as the fatigue washed over her. She was _tired_ , couldn't he realize that? She had been put through the proverbial wringer in the last few days and she deserved this little respite. She wanted to roll onto her side, away from him, but her body felt heavy all over. She remained on her back, hoping that if she held still, he would just go away….

"Riza, listen to me." His voice was at first marginally closer, then began to fade again. "Wake up, Whiskygirl, you've got to wake up. Come back to me."

 _Come back?_ Where was she, that he would phrase it like that? He had to be worried, though she couldn't imagine why. She began to fight the fatigue, trying to lift herself up from the soft, pillowy darkness toward his voice….

Her eyes dragged open halfway, enough to see him with his eyes closed, his expression set with concern and concentration. His palm was hot against her cheek, the heat trying to lull her back into the seductive embrace of sleep. "...Roy…?" Her voice sounded dry even to her ears, and was barely above a whisper. "What -"

He jumped when she spoke, then seemed to half-melt in relief. "Sshhh, it's okay," he said, probably intending to soothe but only managing to sound harried. "It's all right, just stay awake. Stay awake; stay with me."

"Of course…." But she could feel herself slipping back. Riza was relatively certain that she had never been this tired in her entire life, not even after the battle three - no, _four_ \- days ago. But come to think of it… this felt suspiciously like the fatigue born of blood loss.

Anxiety fluttered in her chest, and brought her slightly more awake, if only for an instant. Her hand groped about outside her peripheral, until it found his arm and squeezed. "Why… am I so tired?" she said, half-wondering. With the slurred enunciation of fatigue, it came out more like 'Why'm s'tied…."

She watched the concern etch deeper lines in his brow before her vision blurred as her eyes forgot how to focus. There was noise as someone entered the room, and then a woman with dark hair and a white outfit - a nurse? - was bending over her.

"Open your mouth, Lieutenant," the newcomer said firmly. "I've got a pill that should help you, if you can swallow it."

It was a strong effort to gather the concentration to open her mouth. Something touched her chin; the woman's fingers, she realized, and then a tiny solid object dropped between her lips. If opening her mouth had been difficult, dry-swallowing a tablet was a near-mammoth task… but somehow, she managed it.

"What was that?" she heard Roy ask, his tone anxious. "How is it supposed to -"

"It's a blood supplement," the woman said, her tone calming. "It should give her a little extra strength until they can give her a transfusion."

"I've already had one," Riza murmured groggily, still fighting to stay awake. "Levels were up to ten percent -"

Roy's hand smoothed over her hair. "I know, but I think you need another one. Mrs. Curtis here says you must have opened your neck wound a little and that there's blood on the bandaging."

"What?!" The anxiety surged again and Riza tried to sit up, but dizziness and Roy's hands pressed her back to the mattress.

"I'm impressed you can understand her," the woman - _Mrs. Curtis Elrics' teacher yes okay_ \- said quietly. "She's slurring like a sailor after two weeks' shore leave."

She saw a smile curve the lips she knew so well, and Roy's hand smoothed over her hair again. Without realizing she was doing so, Riza turned into the touch, pressing closer to his palm. "We've been a team for a long time," he said softly. "It's just practice. How long until that supplement works?"

"It's a strong one," Mrs. Curtis said, settling to a seat on the side of the bed. "Ten, maybe fifteen minutes." She smiled at Riza, a reassuring one. "Let's get you sitting up, Lieutenant; you're less likely to drop off again that way. I'm sure you've been told what happens to blood loss victims that fall asleep when their levels are too low."

Riza nodded, allowing herself to be pulled upright. Roy's arm circled her, letting her lean gratefully and comfortingly against his chest. "One-way ticket to Coma Town," she muttered under her breath; she heard the soft sound of Roy's suppressed laugh and smiled.

"A doctor friend of mine looked her over on the battlefield," he explained. "That's how he put it."

"Pretty succinct," Mrs. Curtis agreed, smiling herself. Riza saw her dark eyes go toward the visitor's chair and pause, frowning. There wasn't time for much more before the doctor swept in, blue eyes concerned behind the gold-rimmed spectacles and a frown just visible behind his white beard.

"Well, Lieutenant, what's all this about your wound reopening?"

Mrs. Curtis rose, allowing the doctor to take her place. Riza shrugged as best as she was able. "I'm sorry, I only found out when the Colonel woke me," she said. Her mind was beginning to clear, her words less slurred, but the fatigue still seemed to drag at her from the inside, from her very skeleton. The phrase 'bone-tired' flashed through her mind. "I suppose I did something to it during the night."

"It's certainly possible. Let's have a look."

He allowed her to keep leaning against Roy as he slowly unwound the bandages, and Riza got her first glimpse of a diffuse brownish-red stain on certain sections of the otherwise unblemished linen. Her heart thumped harder for a few beats at the sight, then calmed itself. _At least you're awake. No coma._

The last scrap of bandaging fell away from her neck, and the doctor adjusted his glasses, leaning closed. "Hmm…. Well, the good news is that I don't believe you reopened the wound. However…. His fingers were cold where they lightly prodded against her skin, and Riza felt the chill sink instantly into the pit of her stomach. "It looks like there may be some minor secondary wounds here. That will be what the blood is from." He sat back, still frowning, one hand stroking his beard. "Lieutenant, are you sure you didn't wake at all last night?"

Puzzled, she shook her head, even though the motion sent the room into fresh spins around her. "No, sir, I slept through until this morning when the Colonel woke me."

"And that was with some difficulty," Roy put in.

"Yes, that's what concerns me." The doctor stood, and moved to the foot of the bed, where he checked her chart. "You received one unit of blood, but I'm going to order another for immediate administration. You didn't lose too much blood last night, but enough to nearly knock you sideways, which suggests your levels weren't high enough after the first unit." He looked at her seriously over the rims of his spectacles. "That would indicate your levels on arrival were lower than expected as well. In which case, Lieutenant, you're either _extremely_ lucky or far stronger than I thought."

Roy's arm tightened imperceptibly on her in a tiny, proud hug, and Riza smiled faintly. "Any chance I could be both, sir?"

The doctor smiled in return. "With your sense of humour still intact I'd put my money on the latter. Sit tight, Lieutenant, I'll send a nurse with the new transfusion." He paused on the way out to shake Mrs. Curtis's hand. "Good catch, ma'am. Thanks for the help."

"Thank you," Riza said quietly, as the doctor left. Her smile was still small, still faint. "You helped the Colonel on the Promised Day and now you've helped me. I think we both owe you a debt."

The other woman waved a dismissive hand. "You both helped my boys on their journey; gratitude repays gratitude. Besides, I'm just a housewife passing through who thought she could do a little good." She glanced at the clock on the wall, then turned for the door. "And who will miss her train if she doesn't hurry. Take care, both of you." Her smile was fond and friendly all at once, defying the stories Edward had told of his terrifying and powerful teacher. "This country is going to need people like you in the days ahead. Make sure you're there to answer the call."

"Thanks to you, we will." Roy's grateful smile faded as Izumi's footsteps disappeared into the hallway. He waited until they were gone completely before he ducked his head against Riza's uninjured shoulder. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know." Feeling slightly shaky now that the full realization of her near-disaster was beginning to sink in, Riza settled her right hand on his leg. She needed the contact, to feel the warmth of him nearby even though his arm was still around her. "I can't explain it. When I went to sleep last night, I felt fine. I had a -"

She paused on the edge of saying 'a good night's sleep,' something deep in her mind clicking into place. She switched gears. "I _did_ have an odd dream, but after an event like the Promised Day, I'm not surprised. Other than that, I thought it was a completely normal night."

His brow moved against her shoulder as he frowned. "What was your dream about?"

Absurdly, she felt herself blush. "I dreamed I was with you," she said, lowering her voice. "And… _with_ you." She felt him go completely still, and smiled. "Alone, in private…." She tightened the fingers on his leg, just slightly. "And you were giving me those kisses on my neck that you know I like…."

"Don't expect me to start right now," he muttered, though his own smile was in his voice. "I think you need a little more time to recover before I go making your head spin."

"It's doing that enough on its own; I don't think it needs help," she admitted. A sudden shiver ran through her for two reasons: first, that she had narrowly escaped a coma or worse. She had been warned repeatedly — by Knox, by the doctor that admitted her to the hospital, by Roy himself — that falling asleep before that first transfusion could have been disastrous…. Now, some days after the fact when she was supposedly out of danger, it had happened anyway. The second reason for the shiver was that cold was beginning to settle in her extremities, working its way up toward her core.

Roy felt the shiver. "Give me a second."

He eased off the bed, making his way toward his own by touch. He located the edge of the sheets, then worked carefully to tug them free. When he rejoined her, he settled his back against her pillows with her against his shoulder, and wrapped both of them in the white hospital linen to share his body heat with her.

"I'd try and find some way to light a fire for you, but I'd be more likely to burn down the hospital," he said, grinning lopsidedly.

"That's all right." In the hallway outside, the sounds came distantly of the doctor conversing with a nurse as he prepared the new transfusion. Edging closer to Roy, she took a deep breath to steady her still-swimming head. "I like this method better."

A memory recurred, and she carefully turned her head to look at the visitors' chair. Tossed haphazardly onto the cushioned seat was Roy's coat, stained with her blood, that Alphonse Elric's scrawny, naked body had been wrapped in after Edward hauled him out of the Gate. "…Mrs. Curtis must have brought your coat back from the boys' room," she commented, almost dreamily. "She left it on the chair."

He hesitated, tensing beside her. "…I didn't hear her set anything down…." The muscles relaxed. "Then again, I had other things to think about." His elbow nudged her gently in the ribs. "I think it's going to make some dry cleaner very happy."

Riza smiled and nestled herself against his shoulder once again. A minor perk with this morning's events: their closeness would not be too intensely scrutinized. "Or very frightened," she added.


	4. Once More Unto the Breach

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! 'Tis the season for snow, hot chocolate, and my annual holiday fic! Tune in on Christmas Day for a new holiday-themed oneshot story starring Roy and Riza, but until then let's continue with Tainted Blood._

 _Friendly reminder, my loves, this story is rated M for several reasons, the big four being blood, murder, sexual themes, and occasional foul language._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Four - Once More Unto the Breach**

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL

0923 HOURS, APRIL 13

Dressing carefully, Riza had, once again, the same odd feeling that came with putting on civilian clothes. She wore her uniform so often — once, out of boredom, she had calculated it to at least fifty percent of her time — that any other clothing often felt out of place on her.

But her uniform was at home, except for the boots that were on her feet. She wore the same dark blue pants she had on the Promised Day, but Rebecca had had to bring her a different shirt and jacket. Those were _definitely_ not something she could walk about wearing. Blood stains tended to draw attention.

"I want to tell you that you look good," Roy said, from his spot by the window, "and I have no doubt that you do. But I'd prefer to actually see it when I say it."

Smiling, she turned to face him, "I at least look better than I did a week ago." Her eyes went to the necktie he was winding slowly around one bandaged hand. "Are you planning to actually wear that tie, or just play with it?"

His lips twitched in a smirk. "I was planning to wear it. But given that I never learned to tie a tie with my eyes closed…."

She crossed the room toward him, and gently tugged the black silk from around his palm. "You could have just asked," she commented, not reprimanding but amused. When she reached up to loop the tie around his neck, his hands caught her arms, gently but firm enough to get her attention.

Greyed-out eyes were steady. "How are you feeling today? The truth, not just what doctors want to hear so that they discharge you."

Irritation sparked for one brief moment at the back of her mind, then faded. "As I've told you for the last three days," she said quietly, "I feel fine. In fact, I feel _normal_. I feel like _myself_." Tugging free, she lined up the sides of the tie, then started on the knot. "Whatever that relapse was, it wasn't damaging, and if I've gone this long without another one, I feel comfortable leaving the hospital."

It was true. The day that the Elrics' teacher had noticed the danger and saved her from a probable coma, Riza had thought she would never feel alert and wakeful again. That night, after she had received a transfusion, Roy had sat in the visitors' chair by her bedside until dawn, listening for any change in her breathing that might signal trouble. Gradually, she had felt more and more awake as that day progressed, and the next day had felt stronger still.

Now, she felt just as well as she had before the Promised Day, ready to walk out of this place under her own power and go home to her own apartment. Ready to collect her dog from Fuery and let little Hayate shower her with sloppy puppy kisses. This, she didn't usually allow, but after so long apart from him, she was looking forward to it.

She felt better. More than that, she felt _strong_.

His expression was still troubled, his hands resting on the windowsill behind him. "I'd still prefer if you had someone stay with you for a day or two, just to make sure you don't tire yourself out trying to get back into normal routine."

Her fingers tightened the knot against his shirt collar, and her smile turned sly. "Is that an offer, sir?"

It only took an instant for his grin to appear. "I was hoping you'd see it as one." A second later, his unseeing gaze went toward the door. "Incoming…."

Riza took a step back to a more prudent distance just as the door burst open and Rebecca swept in. "Good morning, sunshine!" She stopped at the foot of Riza's bed, looking between the two of them expectantly. "Why are you still up here? I thought you were getting out of this little menagerie today?"

"We still haven't gotten the discharge paperwork," Riza explained. "They're running a little behind this morning. I think I heard one of the nurses say that one of their staff didn't show up this morning, so they're scrambling to try and get things done."

"It was one of the Administration clerks," Roy put in. "From what I'm hearing, they were fairly concerned about it."

Rebecca had sobered the instant Riza mentioned the missing staff member. "…That would explain what I was told as I was leaving Headquarters this morning." She moved back to the door, closing it quietly. "You've heard about the case that Breda and Fuery have been helping Major Armstrong with?"

Watching her friend cautiously, Riza eased toward one of the beds, leaning against the frame at the foot. She wasn't dizzy or lightheaded, but even as strong as she felt, she had the feeling Rebecca was about to drop the floor out from under them. "They mentioned it briefly, that it was a triple homicide of a family, but nothing much more than that."

Rebecca nodded. "Well, it goes a little deeper than that. It _was_ homicide, but the crime was so terribly violent for no apparent cause that the Investigations Office was at a bit of a loss to explain it… until now." She took a deep breath. "The guys asked me to tell you there was another murder last night. Same style of crime scene, same bad damage to the victim."

Roy frowned. "They're thinking it's a serial killer? After only two similar crime scenes?"

"With murders this violent, it's a long shot that it would be two separate incidents." Rebecca looked distinctly ill at ease, as though the mental images of crime scene photos were, understandably, turning her stomach. "You guys have done murder investigations before, but I don't think you've seen anything even remotely this bad. Not since the war."

Riza took a deep breath, then spoke decisively. "Then I suppose our first stop once we get out of here is the new crime scene." She looked toward Roy. "Wouldn't you say so, sir?"

"Sure," he said casually, then turned his face toward her with a pointed expression. "I'd love to get a _look_ at it, so to speak."

* * *

WALSTON CRIME SCENE

0954 HOURS, APRIL 13

It wasn't how Roy had imagined his return to life outside the hospital. He had originally planned to have regained his sight before checking out, but Riza had suggested that the doctors would find it suspicious if he were 'miraculously' able to see again. But being blind did come with one advantage: he was no longer entirely forbidden from physical contact with his Lieutenant.

The military car Rebecca had procured for them waited at the curb, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. He kept one hand on her uninjured shoulder as they moved up the walk to the house – cobblestone, he could tell by the feel – with Riza speaking quietly to him, describing the scene.

"Two-storey grey brick house, dormer windows up top meaning an attic. Small yard with no fence, front stoop instead of a porch. A few small shrubs in the garden but nothing else. Two windows either side of the front door which is open but guarded, at least for the time being."

Listening hard, Roy frowned slightly. "I take it the others are inside?"

"Yes, sir." Riza guided him up the three steps into the front hall, and the faint voices he had already heard became clearer. He could have followed them to the left side of the first floor by himself, but with Riza to nudge him around any obstacles, it was that much easier.

"Colonel?!" Fuery's surprised exclamation came just as Roy stepped through a doorway, his hand on the jamb, and felt the faint movement of air that meant a large, more open space. "What are you doing here?"

"Kind of our jobs, kind of not," he fired back with a grin. "Given that we're not cleared for active duty yet, but I'm sure that's only a matter of time." His forehead furrowed. "Have you heard anything about the paperwork you put in place to cover your desertion tracks?"

"Both West and South Cities received it, but they're suspicious," Breda put in. "Once you two get the green light for duty, Hawkeye might want to give them a call and persuade them it's legitimate. My forging skills are good, but maybe not that good." He hesitated, just barely. "Pardon my saying so, sirs, but… should you really be here? Are you sure you don't want to take a day to relax outside of hospital, or —"

Riza interrupted him smoothly. Her tone held just a touch of impatience, but was not unkind. "I think I speak for both of us when I say that we've spent enough time sitting around on the sidelines," she said, firmly. "You two have been hinting at what you've discovered at the other similar crime scene all week, and now we're offering to help. What have you got?"

Roy fought down a smile. When Riza Hawkeye was used to being in the forefront of a case, it was difficult to have to take a back seat. Small wonder she was anxious to be behind the metaphorical wheel again. Perhaps he was well within his rights to worry about her, but he was beginning to think it had been needless. Under his hand, the muscles of her shoulder all but thrummed with ready energy. A small part of his mind hoped that she would have some of that same energy when they were finally alone, finally together and healed enough for the first time in far too long….

There was a rustle of pages before Fuery spoke. "Well, so far it's looking like the last one," he said, turning all-business. "Only this time it isn't a family, just the man who lived here alone. We spoke to the neighbours, and they told us he worked at the railyard, loading and unloading freight trains."

Roy frowned. "Meaning he would have to be relatively strong. Not easily physically subdued by an attacker."

"You'd be right, Boss." Breda's voice was grim. "In build alone, this guy looks like Armstrong's little brother. So then the attacker must be just as big, to come in, bowl the railyard man backward over the couch, and…." He paused, and there was the audible sound of a hard swallow. "And rip out his throat. Just like the last one."

"Also just like the last one, the attacker cleaned himself up at the kitchen sink afterward," Fuery added, his voice now sounding coloured with distaste. "There's a bloody towel on the table, but no other sign left by the attacker."

"And no sign of other victims?" Riza asked. Silence, and Roy assumed Breda and Fuery must be shaking their heads. "Before we left the hospital, we overheard that one of the administration staff had gone missing; it might be worth checking into. I doubt it's related to this case, but you never know."

"We can ask around once we report in to Major Armstrong," Breda agreed. "Probably not related, like you said, but better safe than sorry."

"In the meantime, would you mind if we had a look around?" Roy put in.."I'd like for the Lieutenant and I to gather our own impressions, and then to compare them with yours. Fair?"

"…No offense, but… how are you going to help, Boss?" Breda asked doubtfully.

"Pretend I'm a bloodhound," Roy quipped. "I can't see, but my nose has gotten pretty good at noticing things. For instance, I'm guessing the body is in another room on this floor?" When Breda confirmed this, Roy smiled tightly. "I can smell the blood from here. Can you?"

Riza guided him carefully into the other room, and Roy felt the floor change from hardwood to carpet — no, a rug, since it shifted with their footsteps — under his feet. She halted abruptly, and he caught the faint tap of her palm hitting against her mouth.

"Oh my —"

Anything else was choked off by a sudden cough, and Roy grimaced as the sharp copper scent of blood hit him full in the face. This was certainly not a new smell, but added to it was a faint, sickly sour undertone — decomposition?. He swallowed against the wriggle beginning to involuntarily shake his stomach, then closed his nostrils to the smell and breathed through his mouth. "Talk to me, Hawkeye. What've we got?"

Her shoulders rose then fell with the deep breath she took, before she ventured to speak. "All right…. The room is about eight feet wide and twelve feet long. Two windows, one at the front of the house and one at the side. There's one couch under the front window, a coffee table, and then a second couch facing the first. That's the couch the victim was thrown over. I can't see him; just his feet propped up against the couch from behind. But there's a wide blood spray on the cushions; it looks like it would have to be arterial."

Roy grimaced. "And the body?"

She led him carefully forward; his left hand brushed against the wall, and he resisted the urge to steady himself against it; there could be blood spatter there, too.

"The victim appears to be in his mid-thirties," she reported. "He's on his back, arms spread. He's fully dressed, much in the same style as you, actually. Which leads me to believe he worked yesterday, before he was killed."

He picked up the sound of a scribbling pencil behind them; Fuery, he guessed, listening but not adding to the commentary, and taking his own notes from what was said. "And the condition of the body?"

"…He's pale," Riza said slowly. He could hear the frown furrowing her forehead, and listened harder. "Paler than he should be in death, at least. Some of that could be a condition of the blood loss, but — hold on."

She eased out from under his hand, and a moment later came the sound of her knees shuffling against the rug. Roy gave brief thought to her on her knees beside a dead body, possibly within inches of the cold, dead flesh, and fought back a shudder. "There's far less livor mortis than we've seen on other cases," Riza said at last. "That strikes me as odd."

It was Roy's turn to frown. "Say again?"

"Blood settling," Breda supplied from the doorway. "When a person dies in one position, such as flat on their back, the blood in the body isn't being pumped through the veins and so gravity pulls it down to pool in the lowest parts of the body. In this case, it would be the back, neck, and buttocks — any part of him that's in contact with the floor, really."

"I would expect to see it nearly halfway up his side, but it doesn't even come that far," Riza commented, above the sound of her getting to her feet. "And the one spray of blood and the small pool on the carpet by his neck wouldn't be enough to affect the levels to that degree."

Roy's stomach wriggled unpleasantly again, this time from the thought that had occurred, rather than any smell. "…Lieutenant Hawkeye, I sincerely hope you're not telling me that this man is missing a significant amount of blood that can't be accounted for by the crime scene."

Her hand grasped his, and Roy was surprised how dry and cool her fingers were. She guided his hand back to her shoulder and let it rest there. "I think that hope might go in vain, sir," she said quietly. "It's just as bad as they said; this man probably once had a strong, thick neck, but it's practically gone." He heard her swallow, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I can… see part of his spine through the… the gap…."

Protectiveness rose in his chest like a choking fog, and he only barely resisted the urge to pull her to him in comfort. Riza was by no means weak, but this was disturbing on a completely different level.

"What sort of weapon could do something like this?" he asked aloud, directing the question to all three of his subordinates. The subtle sour smell was rising in his nostrils despite his attempts to keep from scenting anything to deeply. "Are the edges of the wound clean or ragged?"

"About as ragged as you can get," Breda said, sounding disgusted. "Whatever did the trick, it had one incredibly serrated edge on it."

"The more I think about it," Fuery said, hesitantly, "the more it looks like… like an animal mauling. Maybe Mr.…." Another page rustle. "Mr. Walston had a dog? If it went rabid, it could have killed him and then run off somewhere?"

"Possible, but then said dog would still be somewhere in the house," Breda supplied. "All the doors were closed and locked. Maybe the attacker brought the dog with him?"

Roy grimaced. "A dog and human serial killing tag team?"

"I'd like to have a look at the kitchen," Riza put in. "I realize there must not be much there, but it can't hurt to look."

Breda and Fuery led them through an open arch — at least Roy assumed that's what it was, given the lack of a door in the wide opening — at the back of the living room. As he left the sour smell behind, he suddenly realized what it was: a scent he hadn't truly encountered since the battlefields of Ishval.

The stink of human sweat laced with a heavy amount of fear.

Riza's shoulder slipped from under his hand once again as she moved forward into the kitchen. Roy listened, picking up only innocuous sounds as she touched things. A soft pat of her fingertips on the counter, a metallic tap of her fingernail on the sink… and then her footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Even halfway across the room, he felt her body bristle, tasted it like an electric crackle in the air. "…What've you got, Hawkeye?"

"…I took it for… for some kind of kitchen scrap at first," she said, her tone faraway. "But now that I see it closer…. Fuery, get me a small evidence bag, please."

The young man's steps went first to the table, then toward her voice along with the rustle of plastic. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

The scrape of metal on metal sounded. "If it's what I think it is, then this has gotten far more disturbing than we could have ever believed," Riza said darkly. "We know for a fact that the killer cleaned himself up in here; the bloody towel points to that. But if that's the case, then it was no dog that attacked Mr. Walston."

Dread coiled in the pit of Roy's stomach. "Go ahead and say it," he said, when only silence filled the room. "Put it out in the open."

He heard her breathe deeply, steeling herself. "I think… we'll need to test it to be sure, but…. What I found just now looks far too much like human flesh for my comfort. And if that's the case…."

Fuery inhaled sharply, but Breda finished her sentence. "If that's the case, the killer that used the sink to clean himself up was the one who tore out Walston's throat with his own teeth. His own _human_ teeth." He swore colourfully. "Just what sort of sicko are we dealing with? And why did he attack Walston and the Jamesons? Far as we can tell, they don't have any contact with each other or any kind of connection."

Roy breathed out a heavy sigh, one hand rising to massage the bridge of his nose. "You said Walston lived here alone, right? No wife or kids?"

Rustling paper. "Estranged wife," Fuery reported. "The neighbours said she moved out about two weeks ago, but before that, there were screaming matches at least three times a week."

"Best we talk to her, then," Roy stated. "The MPs will have notified her of the murder by now, but she could still have useful information. For all we know, she hired a particularly vicious hitman who happens to have killed the Jamesons as well. Won't know until we ask."

Breda's voice was deceptively laid-back, though no less firm for it when he said, "With all due respect, sir, Fuery and I should be doing the asking. You two aren't cleared for field work yet, and besides; neither of you have been home in over a week." He paused for breath, but continued before Roy or Riza could get a word in edgewise. "You should go, get yourselves squared away, and then petition Grumman to push your paperwork through first thing in the morning."

"He's got a point, sirs," Fuery added. "We can handle talking to Walston's ex-wife, or… well, I guess she's his widow, now. And I know for a fact that Hayate will be more than happy to see the Lieutenant again."

Riza started to object, but stopped when Roy lifted one hand. "Unfortunately, I think they're right, Lieutenant," he said, mildly. "We can only claim the consultancy angle for so long; too much, and any evidence used at a future trial — assuming the bastard is caught — can be questioned because unofficial personnel were on scene. At this point, we're a better help if we don't hang around.

"That being said," he continued sternly, "the two of you are going to need to be extremely careful with this. Follow procedures to the letter and report anything and everything you find to Major Armstrong. Once this guy is caught, we don't want to chance him wriggling out of the system. And I certainly don't want you ending up as victims if he returns to the scene of the crime, so watch each others' backs. Got it?"

The words echoed off the walls of the kitchen, sounding enough like the tunnel where he had met them the night before the Promised Day that it sent a shiver down his spine. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

Riza hoped she had hidden her annoyance with him well enough that he hadn't picked up on it, but given the lack of discussion in the car, she had the sinking feeling that he knew anyway. In every glance she snuck at him, she found his eyes closed and his forehead furrowed in light concentration, his fingers laced together in his lap with one thumb tapping restlessly at the other.

Finally, she couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Something on your mind, sir?"

He didn't move, aside from a small, surprised twitch when she spoke. "Given what happened at that house, it's a bit of an understatement," he quipped, though halfheartedly. "Aside from that, I'm just waiting for you to decide you're mad enough to finally speak your mind."

Her fingers tightened on the wheel in time with a fresh surge of annoyance. So he had indeed noticed. "I don't like being benched," she said bluntly. "Now that I know what's been going on, now that I've seen that crime scene for myself, I'm finding it it very difficult to be told to go home and leave work undone."

"I'm not finding it any easier," he assured her. Something stirred in her chest at his tone; more annoyance, she thought, that he would try and patronize her this way. "I'd love nothing more than to sink my teeth into this, so to speak, if for no other reason than to break up the monotony of blindness." His shoulders moved in a fatalistic shrug. "But with Grumman's administration still in such early stages and the Promised Day coup fresh in everyone's minds, subverting due process and ignoring proper channels is more likely to get us court-martialed than commended."

Riza took a deep breath, willing the anger away. "…I know. I'm sorry, sir. I suppose, after a week of being idle, I'm anxious to get back to work." She smiled ruefully. "I never did know what to do with myself on downtime."

"No, but that's all right," he allowed. Riza's ears pricked at the sudden, overt casualness in his tone. "But if you don't know what to do with yourself… would you be able to think of something to do with me?"

She couldn't help it; shaking her head, she let the quiet laugh spill out. "I think you might be out of practice, sir. As propositions go, it wasn't one of your better ones."

Roy laughed as well, self-deprecatingly. "I've been trying to think of one for the last ten minutes," he admitted. He broke off as she brought the car to a stop. "…Are we there already?"

"Not quite." Her sharp eyes roamed their surroundings, watching for anyone that might have seen them or would be able to if they happened to glance the right direction. "Call this a slight detour… down a side alley where no one is likely to come across us. At least, no one we know."

Roy's expression was alert when she looked his way, his entire body perfectly still. "And just why have you taken this little side trip, Lieutenant?" he said, voice low. He doubtlessly knew the answer to his own question, but was teasing her, forcing her to own up to what she was about to do.

From the moment they had left the hospital, she had been watching for a chance like this. One single, solitary chance to get him alone and keep him that way long enough to settle the thoughts that had been gathering for the last few days at the back of her mind. Every time he had felt his way across the hospital room, she had watched, quick eyes following the soft movements of long, nimble fingers as they skated across a tabletop or along a wall, the way they curled effortlessly around door handles or how they tapped against each other as he sat lost in his own thoughts.

Yesterday had been the worst, as he practiced with a handful of coins, learning to tell them apart by feel. Her book had lain forgotten in her lap, her eyes riveted to his hands. Fingers slowly felt each coin, edging around the circumference or rubbing gently over the images embossed on the surface. Silver and copper gleamed under his touch, and heat began to gather, swirling and swaying, in the pit of her stomach. Riza had come so close to suggesting that he find something else to learn by feel… something like her….

"Riza?" His voice drew her back to the present, but the silvery heat was still there, sinking ever lower through her, searching for the perfect place to settle. "You still haven't answered. Why the detour?"

"Because I've thought of a way to pass at least some of my time off," she answered simply. She could feel the flush growing in her cheeks — even after all this time, time alone with him like this still flustered her — but she took a deep breath against the sudden nervousness fluttering in her chest. Reaching out, she slipped her hand into his. "Something that can take my mind off of everything I just saw. Unless there's something else you'd rather—"

"Riza." He spoke quietly, cutting across her words. "There's no place in this world I'd rather be right now."

She swung easily from her place on the driver's side to his lap, the ends of her loose hair swaying to brush against his cheek. Roy twitched in a surprise, but recovered quickly. His hands, out of practice with no visual cues as to where they should go, touched tentatively to her hips before gaining surety and gliding to her shoulders. The right hesitated as his sensitive fingers felt the subtle ridge of bandaging beneath her jacket.

"That being said…you're sure?"

Knowing he couldn't see it didn't stop her from tilting her head to one side in curiosity. "Why wouldn't I be sure? Look at us; we're alive, we're healing, and there's no better expression of that then to—"

"I know, I know." Roy's hands were restless, moving now down her arms. His brow furrowed, not in concentration but in indecision. "I just — I hadn't expected this the same day we get out of the hospital, or anyplace so… well, at least halfway public." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but didn't make it very far. "I mean, I've been daydreaming about it, but… I guess I'm just surprised. This level of forwardness is new for you."

She went very still, watching him closely. This sort of uncertainty was unusual for him, especially given that he had been joking about such an encounter just seconds ago… and when she could feel his own willingness through their clothes, pressing lightly against her thigh. "…If you would rather not —"

"Believe me, I'd love to." Slipping from her arms, his hands followed the curve of her waist again. The smile became stronger. "More than anything, I would. After six months…." He shook his head. "But I'm concerned about you. After that relapse last week and all the blood you still have left to make up for… I don't want to push it too far."

His face turned up to hers, apologetic. "If it means putting you in danger… much as I want to — much as I want _you_ — I can't in good conscience —"

Her finger settled onto his lips, shushing him. "All right. It's all right, I understand." She dropped her hand, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The silvery heat was fading, dissipating like morning mist in the sun. Had she really been about to tumble him in the front seat of a car down some quiet alley? The risk alone…. "You're probably right. Maybe we should continue this somewhere more private, where we can take our time. Go more slowly. I think I could handle that, at least."

Roy nodded, and in the light shifting across his face, she caught, for the first time, his own heated flush. "Yeah…. And if you start to feel light-headed or anything, you tell me immediately, okay?" He grinned lopsidedly. "It takes two to tango."


	5. Assignations

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Just reminders for you this week, that this story is rated M for several reasons listed in the synopsis, and that my annual holiday fic will be ut on Christmas Day. Other than that, enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Five - Assignations**

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

1217 HOURS, APRIL 13

Grumman tossed the folder back onto his desk with a grim sigh. "How unfortunate that this maniac has chosen this particular time to begin a spree," he said, shaking his head. "Though I suppose he thought that, with the capital still in turmoil over the Promised Day, he might go unnoticed for longer."

Major Armstrong stood with his hands folded behind his back in front of the carved wooden desk of the new Führer-President. "My thoughts exactly, sir. I have calls in to the Investigations Office branches in other main cities, to see if perhaps he has travelled from someplace else, but so far, nothing."

Getting to his feet, Grumman paced out from behind the desk, pausing to gaze out the wide window. "And with his particular methods of killing, going unnoticed elsewhere is highly unlikely…." He was quiet a moment, then turned decisively and headed toward the door. "Come, Major. It's a beautiful day outside; too beautiful to be wasting away indoors."

They moved through the corridors of the garrison, some still half-damaged and open to the air, some with gently flapping canvas tarps now covering the gaps, and at last emerged onto the vast front plaza. It still bore its own battle scars - singed grass, churned soil, damaged trees and scattered building rubble - but still made for a good walking place.

"Tell me more about this killer," Grumman said, starting down the few steps to ground level. He kept his hands folded behind his back, his posture soldier-straight, even at his age. "In your own words, not those of a report in a file."

Armstrong kept pace behind and to one side, having to move more slowly to match his longer stride to the old man's speed, "A psychological profile would seem to indicate a male, from twenty to forty years of age, with a high level of aggression," he said. "Not a visible minority in terms of ethnicity, or that might have been noted by potential witnesses. The killer may be anywhere from five-foot-seven to–"

"Major, when I said 'in your own words,' I meant for your personal impressions of the case," Grumman interrupted, not unkindly. "I don't want what you know; I can find all that in the file you gave me. I want what you _think._ "

Armstrong was quiet a moment. "In that case, sir… I believe we're dealing with a very disturbed individual. Aggression is only part of his mental state. I think the rest of it must be anger and simple bloodlust." Blue eyes turned grim. "If I may, sir, you mentioned it was convenient that he began his attacks now, when the city is so vulnerable… but I wonder if perhaps what happened is responsible."

The old General nodded, slowly. "An interesting theory…. Go on."

The big man fought the discomfort that this case had settled in his shoulders, twitched his moustache, and pressed on. "I have seen it before, sir, particularly in Ishval, where the strain and stress of a traumatic incident on an already unbalanced human mind causes a person to… to lose control of themselves. To 'snap,' so to speak. Good men who never crossed the line suddenly become berserkers that attack friend and foe alike." He paused before adding, "Or else break down weeping like children."

Grumman looked back with a smile. His eyes held a grandfatherly kindness, and he adjusted his stride so that he fell into step beside Armstrong. "I hardly think this sort of mental breakage applies to your experiences in Ishval," he said, reaching up to pat a lean hand against one huge bicep. "I believe what you suffered was simply a reaction to all you saw. You're something of a gentle giant, Major; you didn't like what was going on and so you refused to take part. It's as simple as that."

Armstrong breathed deep. The guilt still hung around him, even years later, but it felt less heavy in the wake of the Promised Day. "As you say, sir," he rumbled. "But to continue: it's my impression that whoever is behind these murders has some sort of military training, either from the police force or the army itself."

"Is that so?" Grumman mulled that for a moment. "How do you figure that?"

"By the fact that no one has seen him clearly at either crime scene, for one thing." Armstrong sidestepped a squad of four men carrying a trimmed log along the path toward the distant sound of sawing, watching them go. "For another, that he scaled a building and got into the Jameson house through a second-floor window."

The General shrugged. "The same could be done by an accomplished cat burglar."

"Yes, sir. But how many cat burglars viciously murder their targets and leave the house without taking a single thing?"

"Ah. Touché." Frowning thoughtfully, Grumman watched the path ahead. The recovery work was in full swing, starting at this end of the main building, meaning they would need to start dodging work crews shortly. "I suppose the strength needed to overpower a man like Mr. Walston could come from military training. Anything else?"

"Only that he is completely unorganized and acting on instinct alone." Armstrong watched the work crews as well, a light breeze playing with the single curl of blond hair high on his forehead. "He brings nothing with him to the crime scene, chooses victims seemingly at random, and quickly overpowers and kills them. He cleans himself up as best as he can before he leaves the scene, so that it's not obvious if there's blood on him, and hides in the shadows. He has no set pattern aside from choose, conquer, and kill."

"Which makes him even more dangerous." Grim-faced, Grumman stopped, staring up to where men dangled in harnesses from the building roof, using long poles or handheld hammers to knock away loose bricks and mortar from the half-destroyed walls. "He could strike at anyone, anywhere, and mostly likely after dark. Once this goes public, there's going to be a panic." He huffed a sigh. "How would you suggest we handle this, Major?"

Armstrong's sigh was a close mirror of the older man's. "Aside from warning the public to remain alert and increasing the frequency of MP patrols… I don't think there's much we can do, sir. Aside from catch the man."

"My thoughts exactly. Get everyone you can on this; find him and get him off the streets, dead or alive. I don't much care." He paused. "Mustang and his crew have experience with this sort of thing, don't they? Rooting out terrorists and the like in the East?"

"Yes, sir." For the first time that morning, Armstrong smiled, his eyes crinkling into easy laugh lines as the corners. "He and Lieutenant Hawkeye have already toured one of the crime scenes. As 'consultants,' since they have yet to be reinstated to active duty following their recovery."

"Is that so?" Grumman grinned widely. "Well then, I believe it's high time I checked in with my granddaughter."

* * *

RIZA'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

1249 HOURS, APRIL 13

She stretched luxuriously, flexing her fingers and curling her toes. Riza smiled, her eyes closed, feeling the delicious, still-lingering tingle that covered every inch of her skin. Roy's fingers never failed to leave that feeling on her. With a happy, pleasured groan, she rolled to one side and nuzzled into Roy's shoulder.

He laughed deep in his chest. "Sounds like someone enjoyed herself."

"Don't pretend you didn't." She lifted on one elbow, leaning comfortably against his chest. "Considering that, during the entire time, you didn't take your hand off my -"

Roy cut her off with a swift, rough kiss, his hand lacing easily into her hair. Beneath the sheets, his free hand snaked around her waist, tugging her closer. Riza laughed against his lips, pushing up and away from him. "Well, yeah," he said, grinning as his hand slipped lower to glide over the soft skin of her backside. "I can't see. I had to to have some kind of reference point for where everything was."

"Blind or not, you seem to have retained your preference for legs." So saying, with a mischievous smile she knew he would sense, she drew one knee up against the inside of his thigh. Brown eyes glinted as she watched his teeth clamp down on his lower lip.

"Not nice," he gritted, careful to take a deep breath. "Teasing on two fronts like that? Didn't we talk about using three hundred cenz words in bed?"

"Oh, I thought you said do it more," Riza lied, smirking. Her fingers curled in his hair, tugging his head gently back. Stretching forward, she pressed a kiss to his jawline, just below his ear, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "And I _am_ being nice. I could always make it worse… _sir_."

Roy's eyes closed in time with a pleasured groan. "Was once not enough for you, that you're trying to get me going again?" He pulled free of her hand and opened one eye to grin at her. "Because I'm game if you are."

She was still laughing when he rolled her onto her back, his hands moving deftly in his blind state to pin hers to the sheets as he covered her face in playful rapid-fire kisses. Riza's back arched as the bare skin of his chest pressed against her equally exposed stomach, the kisses moving lower and slower as he went from playful to focussed….

Her hands were still pressed to the mattress when, on the kitchen table across the room, the telephone rang.

As Riza made to get up and answer it, Roy blocked her, pushing her gently back. "Let it ring," he said, voice low with a trickster's grin. "Whoever's calling can't possibly want something more important than what's going on right here, right now."

She looked from him to the phone and back again, torn between desire and duty… then smiled apologetically. The spark in her eye that had been desire faded into the background. "If it's nothing important," she said, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek, "then I'm all yours. I promise."

He rolled his eyes in mock bad grace, then shifted to the side to allow her to get up. Riza snagged his shirt from the bedroom floor where she had tossed it, shrugging into the too-big garment as she crossed to the table. She caught the phone on the sixth ring. "Hello?"

" _How does it feel, being the granddaughter of the Führer-President?_ "

She smiled, tucking the receiver between her ear and shoulder so that she could do up the buttons of the shirt. "Much the same as it did being the granddaughter of a Lieutenant-General," she commented. "Is this a social call, sir, or business?" She caught Roy listening to her intently from the bed, one eyebrow lifted quizzically. Riza covered the microphone end of the receiver with one hand, murmuring, 'Grumman.'

" _A little bit of both, but the social part first_." Her usually jovial grandfather sobered. " _How are you feeling? The reports all say that you took some rather serious wounds, and Mustang didn't get off all too lightly either._."

"I'm all right; better than I was, at any rate," Riza assured him, shifting to lean against the table. "And so is he. We were just released from the hospital this morning, so we're each taking the day to rest and get back as close to normal as we can."

" _All right. I may call him next, once you and I are done. I can't claim to have favourites if I don't check up on them when I have the chance_."

Riza grimaced. She should have known someone might try to call Roy at home, and if he didn't answer and it were suspected they were together…. "Actually, I think he mentioned he was planning to unplug his phone and try to catch up on some sleep," she said, as casually as she could manage. "He didn't sleep well in hospital and he was hoping being undisturbed at home would do the trick. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't answer, sir."

" _Ah, I see. Well, in that case, I have some work I may need the two of you for. I trust I can rely on you to get hold of him?_ "

She went still, listening closely. "Of course. What is it you have in mind?"

" _Well, it depends. Are you recovered enough to be out and about?_ " Grumman's voice was skeptical. " _I know you underwent transfusions in the hospital, but have you gotten your strength back enough that you could assume active duty if you had to?_ "

Riza's eyes went to the tangled sheets of her bed, the corner of her mouth curling upward in a smirk. Just the sight of the rumpled linen was enough to call up the memory of their tumble, and a little curl of heat flickered to life in the pit of her stomach. "I think it's fair to say that I'm feeling better than ever, sir."

" _That's exactly what I was hoping to hear_." Grumman's voice was proud, and she could hear the 'atta girl' smile. " _Now then. Major Armstrong tells me you and Mustang have familiarized yourselves with the latest crime scene and the case in general. He also says that we need a suspect. That's where you and your team come in._ "

The creak of his chair as he shifted position sounded faintly over the phone, and Riza had the distinct mental picture of the old man leaning forward earnestly, those grey eyes lit with fervour. " _You've hunted out terrorists in the East before; treat this the same way. Go through criminal records and find some suspects, ask around on the fringe, do whatever you need to do to find a name. I want this guy found before half the city is in a panic over the murders._ " His voice turned stern. " _It does_ not _reflect well on the administration I'm trying to build if there are gruesome murders right out of the gate that can't be solved or stopped._ "

A shiver worked its way down her spine, raising goosebumps on her arms. For someone with Grumman's usual cheerful demeanour, this level of solemnity meant serious business indeed. "Understood, sir." She shifted to stand straight, the familiar perfect military posture coming to her as easily as breathing. "I'll talk to the Colonel as soon as I can. We'll put together a plan and set it in motion. How regularly do you want updates, and do they go to you, or Major Armstrong?"

" _Make it both, any time you have anything new. And thank you, Lieutenant._ " The commander's edge faded from his voice. " _I'm glad you're doing better, my dear. You shouldn't scare your old grandfather like that, you know. I was worried for you._ "

She smiled fondly. "I know. I'm sorry. I would have preferred to avoid it myself, if I could."

Grumman laughed, Riza having to pull the receiver from her ear at the volume. " _Well, if you've got your sense of humour back, then I suppose I can rest easy. Update me on your progress when you make it. I'll talk to you soon_."

Murmuring her goodbye, Riza set the receiver in its cradle with a smile and a shake of her head. "He may be getting on in years, but you'd never know it, the way he acts," she commented dryly.

Roy was still blindly watching her from the bed, propped on one elbow with the sheets pulled up to his waist. Riza wasn't sure, but she thought he might be able to sense the shirt that hung loosely on her, falling to mid-thigh; his sightless eyes seemed to be fixed on the hem. "What did he want, exactly? Something about our involvement in the murder case?"

"We have a job to do." She crossed slowly back toward the bed as she spoke, but stopped at the edge of it, her arms folded across her chest. "We're being tasked with profiling and finding the killer, and we've been given clearance to call in every favour and contact we have. Whatever it takes to find him and get him off the streets."

"A job tailor-made for our talents." Roy's eyes drifted toward the soft ticking of her alarm clock. "What sort of timeline do we have on this?"

"I got a distinct impression of 'as soon as possible, if not sooner.'" She smiled, half apology, half teasing. "I suppose we'll have to postpone this little rendezvous until a more appropriate opportunity."

He groaned, dropping onto his back and pulling a pillow across his face. "Not the three-hundred cenz words again…."

* * *

ALLEY OFF FOURTEENTH STREET, CENTRAL CITY

1907 HOURS, APRIL 13

The man came staggering out of the side door of the building, with assistance from the sturdy boot pressed to his rear. He caught himself against the opposite wall, then turned to glare as the door slammed. He sniffed, straightening his worn brown sport coat and dark grey tie. "Fine…. Didn't want to play another round anyway," he muttered darkly, turning toward the street. "They all cheat and lie and —"

"But not any more than you do, Casella." A figure stepped from around the corner, silhouetted against the fading daylight. Hands rested in the pockets of an overcoat, greyed-out eyes steady on the small, wiry man as he stumbled to a halt. "What happened? They catch you counting cards again?"

Casella smiled nervously. "Hey, Mustang…. Didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd still be in hospital with that little secretary of yours. That cute blonde, what's-her-name."

"Her name is Riza, but you may call her Lieutenant Hawkeye." From around the same corner stepped a second figure, this one a woman with long blonde hair and a smile that made Casella's disappear. A black and white Shiba Inu followed at her heels, dropping to his haunches as she stopped. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Casella."

"Aha…." He laughed weakly. "Right, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Sorry, my memory's not what it used to be…." He shifted uneasily. "What, uh… what brings you guys out here? Because… well, sorry, Colonel, not that it isn't nice to see you guys back on your feet and better than ever, but…."

He drew closer, lowering his voice. "Well, you've got to understand how it's going to affect me if I get spotted talking to you, you know? You two put on a pretty public display during the battle, and if I get seen, uh…." He paused, hunting for the right word. "Uh… _colluding_ with known rebels against the Presidency, then—"

"Calm down, Casella," Roy soothed, one hand lifting from a pocket to wave the other man's fears away. "Don't you read the papers? I was acting in the _interest_ of the Presidency, not against it."

"So that'll hurt my credibility even more!" Casella was beginning to whine as he grew desperate to be away. "What self-respecting street criminal pals around with loyalists? Come on, just tell me what you want so I can get out of here!"

"All right, all right." Roy stretched one arm out until he felt the wall, then moved to lean against it. "We're out pounding the pavement, looking for whoever did those big murders. I was told to find people with their finger on the pulse in this city, since they're more likely to know a thing or two. Naturally, I thought of you."

"Lucky me," Casella muttered, half under his breath. "You chose me over the Madame? I suppose I ought to feel honoured."

"She's on my list." The eyes grew hard. "But I can't rule out any source at this point. You're bound to have heard something, and I want to know what it is, no matter how small or unsubstantiated."

Casella shrank back into the shadows as a group of men passed behind Riza, on the sidewalk, talking and laughing among themselves. "I don't — I can't…. How do I know you won't just write me off once I tell you? You can tell me all you want that you were acting in the government's interests during the battle, but I've got sources that say you were being hunted by the President's troops. That they had orders to shoot to kill." He scowled. "Doesn't really say much for your loyalty."

Roy surprised him by grinning. "You need to double-check with those sources. They should have also told you that neither Lieutenant Hawkeye nor myself shot to kill any soldier that attacked us. Soldiers follow orders; if they were ordered _not_ to kill by someone with the right authority, they'd do it. They're still valuable resources, and I don't burn valuable resources. And for now, Casella, that's exactly what you are."

"Though if you stall for much longer," Riza put in quietly, "I doubt the Colonel will continue to award you that status. It would be in your own best interest to share what you know."

Casella's shoulders slumped, lending a sense of deflation to his resignation. "All right, all right." He heaved a sigh. "Look, there's not a lot on the guy doing this. I've heard conflicting reports. I've had guys tell me he's Amestrian, another say that he's Xingese, and another that he's Drachmanian. Those same reports said he was both bloodied up a bit and unscathed. The guy who thinks your killer is Xingese said he could've sworn his teeth were pointed. The only thing the same between the reports is that they're all different."

Listening intently, Roy frowned. "Nothing about his age, clothing, height, weight…?"

"The most they could agree on was average height, average weight. Black or dark-coloured clothes, but nothing definitive on age. That much, they could all agree on." Casella shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes on the open street beyond Riza. "Look, I swear, that's all I know, okay? Can I _please_ go?"

Roy waved a hand. "Yeah, go ahead. Thanks for the intel. It's better than the nothing we had before."

The thin man wasted no time, fairly scampering for the alleyway's wide mouth… and then pausing just before he reached the sidewalk. "You know," he said, hesitating slightly, "there was one other thing that all the reports I heard had in common." He looked from Colonel to Lieutenant and back again. "I disregarded it because I didn't think it could possibly be true, but…."

The dark-haired alchemist's head came up, blind eyes alert and intent in the gloom. "What was it?"

"That the guy you're looking for could climb sheer walls, and gain access through the tiniest opening." Casella grinned half-heartedly when neither officer spoke or showed any outward reaction. "See what I mean? Pretty unbelievable."

Roy laughed humourlessly. "After everything I experienced during the battle, I don't discredit the so-called impossible so easily anymore," he said. He shifted to stand straight, but stayed put. "Thanks again, Casella. I'll find you again if I need anything else."

"Please don't."

With that, the skinny little man slunk off along the sidewalk, glancing about to make sure he was unobserved. Riza stayed just inside the alley entrance, watching, until he disappeared around the corner and out of sight. "He's gone," she said quietly, reaching down to scratch Black Hayate's ears. "Now what?"

"Like I told him, the next name on my list of informers is the Madame." Roy smirked, producing a piece of scrap paper from a pocket and holding it up for her to see.. "And how convenient that Casella's favourite place to hustle cards is three blocks away from the new building she and the girls have been setting up?"

Her smile matched his in mischievousness, as she took the paper and read the address. "Convenient indeed. Though with her connections, I'm not surprised she found a new space so quickly." She took his arm, and they started off along the street with Hayate ranging ahead on the end of his leash.

"She seems pretty pleased with it." Roy walked with his eyes closed, relying on the subtle changes in Riza's movement to tell him which direction to go. "She called me a few days after your relapse in hospital, and told me she'd found it."

"And did she hold you to what you said about paying for the new place?"

His smile was only slightly sly. "She told me that the fire insurance from the old place would cover the new one, but I insisted. She wouldn't have lost the old bar if it weren't for me, so it's only fair." Roy shrugged. "Besides, what's the point of having research funds if you can't use them?"

"Not to mention that she raised you to be a good man." She squeezed his arm, smiling. "And that's exactly what you are."

"Not as good as I could be, in recent days," he murmured. "I haven't exactly been… _forthcoming_ with her on what happened to us on the Promised Day…."

* * *

UNNAMED BUILDING, CENTRAL CITY

1925 HOURS, APRIL 13

The door was unlocked when they reached it, and Riza stepped through first into the dim interior. She paused, Roy following her carefully across the threshold, and raised her voice. "Hello?"

There was the barest pause, and then a collective scraping of chairs on the wooden floor. Running footsteps sounded through an open archway at the far side of the room, shadows shifting in the lanternlight. Several voices talked over and to each other all at once.

"I know that voice!"

"That was Hawkeye! And where there's a Riza —"

"He's here!"

Four women came hurrying through the archway, and didn't even hesitate before practically launching themselves across the room at the two soldiers. Happy squeals and exclamations echoed off the smooth, bare wooden walls as both Roy and Riza were engulfed in a wave of hugging, kissing, talking women. Neither of them made any move to try and escape or any sound of protest, knowing it was futile.

"Hold it!"

At the sound of the new voice, the girls quieted, backing away from the newcomers. Roy went perfectly still, his eyes open but his head down; the fringe of his bangs hid the greyed-out irises from sight. Riza's breath caught in her throat at the sight of a grim-faced Madame Christmas standing in the archway, her dark eyes glaring.

"You think the two of you can come waltzing in here without a by-your-leave after all the worrying I've done?" she said, starting forward. "First you blow up my old place, then you assist in leading a military coup, and _then_ you land yourselves in hospital for over a week!"

Riza stepped forward, instinctively on defense. "Madame, I understand your concern, but if you'll just let me —"

"Let you what, explain?" Practically toe-to-toe with the younger woman, Chris Mustang drew herself up to her full height, eyes flashing. "What would you like to explain to me, girl? Why it is you have bandages around your neck? Why my boy has bandages around his hands? Or perhaps you'd like to tell me why I was told not to visit either of you in hospital?"

Her mouth opened, but Riza couldn't find the words. She had never seen the Madame this angry before. Annoyed with customers, yes, but never brimming with righteous fury. The elder woman was well within her rights to demand an explanation, but Riza could think of none to give her. She closed her mouth again, and dropped her gaze to the floorboards.

A moment later, she was seized in a hug, her face buried in Chris's shoulder. "I know, girl." Her voice was softer now; still gruff, but with an undertone of understanding. "You wanted to spare an old woman worrying. And while it didn't work, I appreciate the sentiment." Leaning back, she smiled. "You did good. Both of you. Now what the hell did you do to yourselves that you're still bandaged up a week after the fact?"

Riza's answering smile was weak at best. "Just run-of-the-mill cuts and scrapes," she lied. "For the most part. But Roy's case…." She looked over her shoulder to where he still stood, eyes hidden. "It's a little more serious."

Still standing near the door, he lifted his head.

Chris Mustang did something then that Riza would never have thought possible: she went completely pale. Soft gasps sounded from her four girls as her hands dropped from Riza's arms and she moved past her like one in a dream. Dead silence descended on the room, broken only by her soft footsteps.

Roy listened to her advance, and as her footsteps stopped just in front of him. He flinched briefly as her palm settled gently against his face, turning it gently toward the light he couldn't see.

"…Roy-boy? Can you see?"

He had to swallow hard before he could answer. Nervousness, Riza knew. She had had the suspicion that he had been dreading this moment; had hoped to avoid it entirely if he could. But his voice was steady.

"No. Not at the moment."

More soft gasps and quiet murmurs came from the girls, but the Madame frowned. "Talk straight, boy," she warned. "What do you mean 'at the moment?' This is temporary?"

"Mostly, yes." He smiled grimly. "Our enemies committed human transmutation through me as a proxy, so that the toll of it rebounded on me. I have a way to reverse it, I'm just waiting on someone else."

For a moment, Chris just stared at him; he listened for any sort of reaction, his brow beginning to furrow worriedly when none came. The girls and Riza were quiet, watchful, waiting for any indication of something they should do or say….

At last, Chris sighed. "Leave it to you to find a way into the deepest trouble you could," she said fatalistically. Reaching out, she pulled him into a hug, though still shaking her head. "Just make sure you get it fixed up quickly; you're putting extra work on your assistant, with her having to guide you around."

Roy grinned, his eyes falling closed as he returned the hug. "Yes, Mother," he muttered dryly.

"Good." Disengaging herself, Chris started back toward the arch she had entered through, waving Riza on ahead of her. "Now, both of you come along. I want a full explanation of everything that happened; every detail. Girls: bring that reckless fool along or he'll be bumping into the walls all night."

* * *

The man had followed at a far distance: a good block behind his quarry until they disappeared into a building on Eleventh Street. Light was dim inside, restricted mostly to candles or lanterns. He studied the building's front from across the street: it was likely to either remain vacant or be transformed into something else, though he couldn't imagine what. And really, that was none of his concern.

Riza Hawkeye was in that building.

He was pleased to find her looking so strong, so vitally alive. He had feared, briefly, that he had taken too much of her blood on his midnight visit to her in hospital. That he had weakened her to such a degree that his personal vengeance would be stunted and stopped before it could really begin.

Ah, but he shouldn't have worried. She moved with easy confidence and lithe grace. He admired that; she had really come into her own after Ishval, after she abandoned the exhausted and dispirited slouch of the battlefield. Then, she had had the look of a confused and wounded puppy; now, she was as collected and self-assured as any predatory feline.

He grinned, baring teeth that glinted the streetlights just beginning to come on overhead. The last rays of the sun were fading and night was rapidly advancing. He could feel the weakness imposed by the daylight leaching out of his limbs, the sluggishness dropping away like water down a sluice.

Crossing the street, he slipped into the narrow alley beside the building he had been watching, taking care to drop low to the ground to pass unseen beneath the windows. As he neared the back, he caught the sound of Mustang's voice, talking calmly and steadily. The man stopped, settling to sit cross-legged beneath a dust-caked window, and listened.

Piece by piece, he took in the story of what had happened on the Promised Day, and began laying his plans for later that night.


	6. Touch and Go

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I don't want to take too much time from this week's chapter, so I'll keep this brief. Suffice to say that in addition to the usual blood and language warnings, this is where the 'sexual themes' really kick in. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Six - Touch and Go**

UNNAMED BUILDING, CENTRAL CITY

0023 HOURS, APRIL 14

"No, we don't want to put you out —"

"My apartment isn't that far. We can make it —"

Chris lifted a silencing finger; hearing Riza's protest die away, Roy's did this same. "It's not an imposition," she said firmly. "It's late, you're both still healing from the beating you took, and so I'm not about to let you go running around at all hours when there's a madman on the loose." She indicated the stairs to one side of the room with a tilt of her head. "There's an empty room upstairs. You can stay there."

Riza glanced doubtfully at the stairs. "I don't mean to question your hospitality, Madame," she said carefully, "but… is this place set up for people to stay here? With the lack of electric lights —"

Vanessa giggled, cutting her off. "There's electricity _upstairs_ , silly! The Madame got things ready up there first, before she brought us back, so everything is all set!"

Leaning forward, her blue eyes teasing, Madeline added, "Unless you guys don't _want_ to share a bed or something…."

Roy had been listening, but now ignored the jibe, turning in his adoptive mother's direction. "If you're sure we won't be in the way, then we appreciate the offer," he said. "I don't think we'd get into much trouble between here and Hawkeye's place, but, like you said, there _is_ the murderer we've been hunting still out there, and I'd rather not tempt fate."

"Good." Getting to her feet, the Madame waved them toward the stairs. "Off with all of you, then. Tomorrow's going to be busy enough as it is, so there's no sense in losing any more valuable sleep than necessary."

Roy was the last one up the stairs, just behind Riza as she quietly instructed Hayate to stay downstairs. He could hear her fingers, trailing on the smooth, varnished wood of the banister, tapping randomly along with whatever thought was going through her head. Reaching forward, he let his hand brush against hers; her fingers curled briefly around his and then let go. A silent sort of promise that was as subtly suggestive as such things came.

At the top of the stairs, an arm linked itself through his. "This way!" Madeline said brightly, nudging him down what he could only assume was a hallway. The sounds of opening and closing doors and the girls calling good night to each other echoed off the walls before Madeline stopped him, and put his hand on a cool, metal doorknob.

"That's you," she instructed. "Third door down on the left. Got it?"

"Got it. Thanks." Turning the knob, he stepped inside by a pace or two, listening as Riza's familiar step followed him in. He heard the quiet murmur of her 'good night' to Madeline, and then the door closed. "What have we got?"

There was the click of a lamp pull cord, but no light flooded the constant darkness; not that he could see. Riza paused a moment, no doubt looking around…. "The room is about ten feet by twelve feet, wooden floor with a large area rug and whitewashed wooden walls. One window looking out toward…." Her steps crossed toward it. "…Eleventh Street. A wardrobe in one corner, writing desk in another and a double bed with a night table and lamp on either side."

"Sounds nice. I'm impressed she could put this place together so fast."

Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the sounds from the other rooms – drawers opening and closing, the flap of blankets being pulled back, the creak of mattress springs, one of the girls humming idly…. Outside, on the street, a car purred as it passed by.

He hadn't thought it possible, but the knowledge that he and Riza were fully alone, fully able to give in to whatever they felt and no one around them would so much as bat an eye…. Suddenly, he felt as nervous as the day he had knocked on the door of the Hawkeye house for the first time. It wasn't their first time, by any means, or even the first time since the Promised Day, but after so long under surveillance—

"What are you thinking about?"

She still stood near the window; she hadn't moved either. Roy suspected she had been watching him, perhaps at a loss herself for what came next. He grinned lopsidedly, but knew it betrayed his apprehension. "Just… that it's hard to believe it's over. That we don't need to worry about… about Pride or Bradley. Or getting caught. And yet…."

"And yet you're… skittish."

"A little bit." He shrugged, with that same smile. "At your place, it was one thing. It was familiar. Here… where I don't know my way around yet, where it's _un_ familiar…. It plays a little with my mind." He shifted in place. "And I didn't mention it last time, but… when I can't see what I'm doing, I worry something I do is going to hurt you."

Her footsteps were so quiet, he almost didn't hear her coming. Her hand landed lightly on his shoulder, rubbing gently in a soothing gesture. "Not going to happen," she murmured quietly. "I won't deny that it's happened before, but never during — well…." He practically heard the blush creep into her cheeks. "Suffice it to say, I trust you. With your eyes out of commission, you've become very… attentive."

"Kind of mandatory, when I have to figure things out by touch." His hand found her side, just below her ribs, and slid around to her back, tugging her forward. He felt the minute tensing of muscles, heard the not-quite-sharp inhale, and stopped. "…Was that an "I like it" gasp, or a "Never do that again" gasp?"

"I like it." He felt the motion of her shrug. "I… like the touch."

"I'll keep that in mind."

When he'd had his sight, this part usually involved kissing like they were drowning and only that would save them. Roy wouldn't necessarily call himself 'aggressive,' but he admitted to knowing what he wanted. Riza was the same, and so, when they came together, it was tantamount to spontaneous combustion. Hungry, desperate kisses with not much attention paid to technique, each of them trying to be the first to strip the other.

Now, despite the assurances of the Madame and her girls that noise was no bother at all and Riza's perfect ability to see, things moved slowly. Riza took the initiative, sliding the overcoat and sport jacket from his shoulders as one. He heard the flap as the material hit the floorboards. Her lips pressed gently against his as his hands found her shoulders, the collar of her jacket, and followed the edges down the open front. He slid it from her, letting it fall to one side.

She had confessed, once, that she liked his button-down shirts, that they were her favourite to take off for the sheer action of undoing them one by one. Normally, she did it blindly, turning the task into something seductive… but this time, she pulled out of the kiss to keep her eyes on her hands. Roy waited, one hand finding the side of her face and pressing his palm to her cheek. He felt her smile, pressing closer to his hand in an affectionate nuzzle.

The starched white cotton came off as easily as the coat and jacket, joining them on the floor. She caught his hand as he reached for her, and soon the bandages over his palms were slipped away. As his fingers tugged her customary high-necked black shirt from its placed tucked into her pants, she laid a cool hand on his wrist. "I can't lift my left arm over my head," she reminded him gently.

"Right." He stopped, waiting for an indication of what came next. "How did you want to—"

She took a step back, out of easy reach, and he heard the soft _shfft shfft_ of moving fabric. A moment later there was the soft tap of her long hair hitting her bare shoulders as it fell free of the shirt. "Just had to work my left arm out," she murmured, stepping close again. "Sorry; it's easier if I do it myself."

"Not a problem; whatever works for you." He gathered her to him again, feeling the alternately smooth and rough skin as his hands passed over the marks — both tattoo and burn scar — on her back. Riza's breath was warm on his shoulder, her right hand deliberately seeking out the patch of scarred and darkened skin on his left side. He buried his nose in her hair, letting her trace by feel the thin white lacerations marks that could have cost him his life.

Both her hands settled on his hips, nudging in a gentle hint. Stepping backward carefully, Roy let her guide him along until he felt the light brush of the mattress against the backs of his legs.

His hands slipped from her back to her belt, following the smooth leather around to the buckle at the front. It came apart easily under his fingers, and he smiled. "Must be a bright side to having done this without looking so much," he murmured. "Being blind isn't having an effect on this part."

Her laugh was quiet, her nose pressing against his cheek. "I'd place my bet that your being blind has far less of an effect than you think." The tips of her fingers brushed lightly, playfully, across the front of his pants. The unexpected touch caused him to draw in a hissing hitch of breath. "You're certainly no less willing."

Drawing a second, deeper breath, Roy forced himself to keep his pace slow and methodical. "Why would I be?" he shot back, lifting his head to let her see his smirk. "You were the one who tried to jump me right after leaving one of the bloodiest crime scenes we've seen recently."

He felt her shrug. "Six months is a long time to wait," she pointed out. "Even longer when you're missing someone. And to then get hit with strong emotions again, it… makes you want to turn to that person, in whatever way will get you the closest."

"I'll buy that." So saying, he let the soft fabric of her pants drop to the floor. Before she could do the same for him, he took a chance, turning with her what he judged to be 180 degrees and dropping her back to the blankets.

"Roy, what –"

"Just hold still," he said, voice quiet. He was acutely aware that any noise from the other rooms had stopped as the girls went to bed… and he had no doubt that each of them were listening closely for any telltale sound from this room. "Like I said, I can't see what I'm doing. Let me figure it out."

"…Okay."

She shifted up fully onto the bed, and as he joined her, he heard the click of the lamp's pull cord. "Wouldn't have done you much good anyway," she said, wryly.

His hand found her arm as she lay back, following it up to her shoulder, neck, then face. Roy moved carefully, feeling by points of contact in his toes, knees, and fingertips until he knew he must be over her. He could feel those brown eyes on him, and the image sprang to mind of how he knew they looked in the dark, luminous and intelligent, watching him in anticipation.

He kissed her lips, briefly, and felt the response. Her palms cupped his face, though he led the rhythm. Deep, slow, every bit of unspoken passion in that one action. He broke free, nudging past one hand as he trailed gently probing fingers down the side of her neck, his lips following when he found what he was looking for.

It took a few moments to carefully unwind the bandages from her neck, but when he did, her pulse thrummed under the kiss he pressed to the thin, still-healing scar. It had a rough, scratchy texture he associated with broken skin and stitches that sent a chill of fear lancing down his spine… but he didn't dally there. His fingers had already found the wider, deeper gash in her shoulder, and he moved toward it.

Riza's fingers slipped into his hair as he kissed the forming scar. Once upon a time, he might have evidenced his own pleasure in her bare skin by biting lightly at this very spot… but not this time. _Soon_ , he promised himself. _When you can see the real thing and not the mental picture_.

Roy reversed track from her shoulder, following the hard line of her clavicle back to the base of her throat. Her other hand joined the other in his hair as he shifted himself backward, though the thought occurred that to her way of thinking, he was moving 'down.'

Though he was a self-confessed leg man – _Especially her legs, because_ damn _they're incredible_ – it did not stop him from enjoying the soft swell of her breast fitting cozily into the palm of his left hand. Though the feel of the fabric that covered it….

He lifted his head from where he had been leaving deliberately slow-moving kisses along her sternum. "Am I hallucinating or are you actually wearing a bra with lace on it?"

"I wondered if you would notice." Her evident smile was playful in tone. "Shopping with Rebecca as a cover story turned into actual shopping, and of the wardrobe choices foisted on me that day… I thought maybe you wouldn't mind this one."

He grinned, his thumb running lightly over the delicate pattern. "Not at all. And I bet I'll mind even less when I can actually see it for myself."

He shifted so that he was kneeling, her legs pinned lightly between his. Feeling her shift minutely as she wiggled her toes in pleasure, he let his fingers skate slowly over the subtle, shifting ridges of her ribcage, over the contours of her waist, and down to the smooth close-fitting band at the top of the panties.

He quirked a curious eyebrow. "Matching?"

Riza laughed quietly, her hand brushing gently against his left leg. "My wardrobe isn't _that_ together, sir."

Roy felt the full-body twitch, the reaction to that title used when he could feel nothing but her skin, as a flash of fire in his veins. That she knew how to push every little button, how to take innocent little words and turn them into a beacon that never failed to draw him nearer…. She had never had the sort of training the Madame's girls did — how to tease secrets out of close-lipped people, how to read body language, how to seduce if necessary — and yet she employed it effortlessly.

Well, two could play that game.

He shifted back a little farther, toward her knees, letting his fingers trail down over the soft cotton underwear, ghosting featherlike over the deliciously smooth skin of her inner thigh. Her fingers, still on his leg, tightened along with her sharp inhale. "You teased, Riza," he said, voice low. "Using the 's-word' like that. You tease me, you know I'm going to tease you right back."

"If you're hoping I'm going to apolo _gize_ —" The last syllable disappeared into a gasp as he bent and placed a gently sucking kiss in the small hollow of her hip. "— then you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"I'm not looking for you to apologize," Roy promised. A sly finger hooked the panties at her hip, beginning a slow, inexorable downward tug. "Beg for it, maybe, but only a little."

"Feeling generous, _sir_?"

She was laughing, quietly, as he shook his head and abandoned subtlety. Panties, bra, and socks that he had entirely forgotten hit the floor with the rest of her clothes, and his remaining clothing was not long in joining it.

Riza hadn't been exaggerating; she _had_ liked the touch. With them, the act of lovemaking had never been wholly passive, but now…. Roy had a distinct impression that before now, he had only seen a part of what she was capable of in bed. Perhaps it was his senses making up for his missing eyesight, but it didn't change the fact of how good she felt against him. Six months apart, of looking over their shoulders… the release of tension and the feel of her — her temperature already starting to climb in tandem with his own — all combined to bring the force of his own desire to forefront.

Her voice held a note of a wicked smile he wasn't sure he had ever seen as her hand drifted low, over his midriff. "Breathe," she reminded him, and he realized he had been holding his breath. "Don't you pass out on me now. That's just more teasing."

His freshly released breathed was promptly sucked back in in a hissing inhale as deft fingers slid smoothly along the length of him. An involuntary growl rumbled low in his throat as he grasped her by the hip with one hand, the other slipping underneath her shoulder.

"Remember what I said about teasing?" he felt the heat of his breath reflected back at him from being so near her skin. "No apology. Something else."

Her fingers were in his hair again, and she kissed the side of his neck. "Never," came the laughing whisper.

With his heightened senses, he almost finished with the first thrust; the physical sensations along with the way her back arched to send skin pressing against skin was enough to drive the air out of him. A half-remembered technique kicked in, and Roy forced himself to draw a slow breath, and exhale the same way, controlling the urge. A second thrust, and a third, and this time the stuttered breath that left her along with the convulsion was masking a low moan.

His face was in her hair, the innocuous smells of soap and linen and _her_ filling his brain with liquid insanity. "Come on, Riza," he breathed, close beside her ear. "Say it."

Her hands were on his shoulder blades now, and he could feel the dig of her fingernails. "Make me," she shot back, and dragged one hand, and its corresponding set of nails, down his back. Roy hissed through his teeth in more pleasure than pain, and rewarded her action with another thrust. This time, she did moan, her face buried in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

They lost themselves in the rhythm of it, dropping the distracting banter. Roy focussed on reading the movements of her body, listening to her breathing for clues as to how he was doing, how close she was. Even the tiny movements of her hands and feet spoke to him. The breathing wasn't as much help as he would have thought; she seemed to be employing the same deep-breath trick he was, forcing her stamina to draw itself out.

He was only a second or so behind her when the climax came, his breath as ragged as hers as the tempo sped up, dictated by the near-feverish movement of her hips against his and the soft, almost inaudible mewling sounds coming from deep in her throat. Roy forced himself to stop, to hold still, and when he heard her breath stop, he knew her eyes had flashed open and fixed on him.

"Say it."

Underneath him, tense muscles went slack as she gave in. The word 'please' left her lips on an accompanying rush of breath as he thrust home the final time. Roy heard the harried intake of breath and got a hand up just barely in time to clamp it over her mouth, quelling her scream of final pleasure and mingling with his own vehement — if hushed — swearing.

His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and he felt his bangs sticking in the sweat layered against his skin. The only sound in the room was their breathing, and Roy revelled in the sound. His was fast-paced and shallow, Riza still taking deep, measured breaths against whatever aftershocks were still shivering their way through her, but it was the sound of life. They were _alive_.

Her felt her shudder as he shifted away, leaving her. "Best part's still to come," he murmured. He felt her shift in anticipation. "Deep breath, love; you're going to stop when I do this."

This was something they had only discussed in theory prior to the Promised Day. On their last tumble, he had put it into practice, and had been concerned when he hadn't heard her breathe for a full thirty seconds. This time, he waited until he heard the soft intake of breath before he clapped his hands.

Careful to hold on to the energy — a bit like holding back on an orgasm — his hand landed high on her leg, and then carefully slid between them. Still-sensitive nerve endings kicked into high gear at the slightest brush, and he felt Riza tense as he drew closer… closer….

He didn't need eyesight to know when he reached it, her most secret of places. Warmth and wetness touched his fingers, and he followed them to their source. He could feel her shuddering, having to exercise all of that considerable self-control not to twitch, not to cry out when he wasn't free to stifle it. He heard the clap of both hands rising to cover her mouth as he let go, sending the energy outwards and upwards.

The convulsion was evident, something along the lines of a grand mal seizure; Roy was later sure that the only points of contact her body had with the bed were her feet and shoulders. Alchemy tingled when used on the human body, he knew, and to send it racing through her to destroy those little seminal proteins so soon after her climax was bound to induce a second one. Then she dropped back, her breathing as ragged as his had been but swiftly coming under rigid control again.

He stretched out beside her, curling an arm around her to tug her close against his side. She came willingly, too tired now to ask for the space she usually needed to fall asleep. "I think we're getting better at this," he murmured, feeling his own fatigue starting to creep up on him.

"I think it might be getting close to 'earth-shattering,'" she answered drowsily. She was still for a moment, then wriggled free. "Wait a minute…."

He felt her tug on the blankets, and shifted so that she could pull them from underneath him. When they settled back again, covered this time in soft cloth that carried the sweet, heavy smell of what had just transpired, Riza lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder, his hand stroking lazily and automatically at her hair.

His back burned faintly with pleasant heat where her nails had raked him, and he was definitely going to need a shower in the morning, but for right now, Roy didn't care. They were alive, they were together again, and they were better than ever. The last thought, before he dropped off to sleep, was that if it made the sex this good, he supposed he could live without his sight for a while longer.

* * *

UNNAMED BUILDING, CENTRAL CITY

0135 HOURS, APRIL 14

The curtains drawn across the interior did nothing to prevent him hearing the soft come and go of breath from two bodies, or smelling the distinct musk of recently-had intercourse.

The man grinned. _You've been busy, my little bird_.

His arms were folded on the windowsill, bracing him as the rest of his body dangled in empty space. The man had no fear of being seen by anyone inside the building or without – this late at night in this particular section of the city, it was deserted. His eyes stared at the cream-coloured blind drawn down over the window, sharp hearing picking out the sound coming from beyond it. The soft measured breathing of two people sleeping soundly was certainly not as titillating as the sounds that had issued from the room half an hour ago, but still….

Satisfied that the room's occupants wouldn't hear him coming, he set his gaze to finding his opening… ah, there. The tiny crack in the weather stripping seemed to widen and stretch as his gaze descended on it. An outsider would have seen his body lengthen and funnel into the crack, as though he were being sucked into a black hole.

Of course, when he reformed on the interior, his form showed no indication of having been stretched so dramatically.

He glided up beside the bed, eyes glittering with a mad light in the darkness. He stood, silent and brooding, at the foot of the bed, watching the pair of them. The woman lay in the curve of the man's arm, the sheet draped across their still bare flesh and clinging to every curve and ridge of muscle.

He licked his lips, finding them dry and papery. His eyesight picked out the faint marks on her throat that he had left, either side of the angry red line of a healing cut. He could hear her pulse, beginning to slow from his effect. Could see the barely detectable twitch in her throat that was her lifeblood. He could smell the dry, desiccated smell of old blood and healing wounds rising to mingle with the scent of good sex.

 _Where's mine, little lady?_

Skulking around to what would be her side of the bed, he stretched sinuously, cautiously, over the open space of mattress toward her. Hawkeye's lips were parted just slightly, showing just a hint of teeth. The man leaned close, sniffing delicately, and grimaced as he caught the faint scent of Mustang on those same lips. In the old days, how he would have loved to throw the both of them to the wolves, out the taboo relationship and watch them both burn….

But not now. Now, their suffering would be so much more. They had played a part in his story, and rejected him out of hand… but oh…. They would get theirs.

Reaching out with his mind, gently probing the pair of sleeping consciousnesses, he eased Mustang's deeper into a full REM cycle. Settling himself just above Hawkeye, he tweaked hers lightly, trailing thin white fingers over her throat. Brown eyes opened sleepily, the look almost sultry. The man waited for her to focus on his face, her eyes widening in shock, before he grinned broadly.

"Hello, lover."

Before she could speak, he pushed against her consciousness, easing her back down toward sleep. She had seen his face, but he doubted she would remember much. He kept her hovering just at the edge of awareness, drawing close to the side of her neck. The smells of the bandaging from the hospital were gone — good, the aftertaste had stayed with him for days — leaving only the scent of her tender woman's flesh tickling his nostrils.

"You're not as far gone as I wish you were," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her ear. Hawkeye made a soft sound in the back of her throat, one that brought the heat of arousal trickling into him. "I thought you'd be more noticeably changed by now…. We'll have to fix that."

His tongue slipped out, leaving a wide wet trail over his marks from the last time and the still-healing scar. Hawkeye made the same quiet sound, shifting in Mustang's enfolding arm.

The man's teeth sank through the same marks he had made before, sending warm blood oozing instantly into his mouth. Hawkeye's breath drew in in a hissing gasp, and he felt her body begin to arch before he thrust her consciousness deeper, farther into sleep.

She relaxed, the muscles in her neck loosening. His tongue flicked, tasting the life that flowed from her into him, even as toxicity flowed back into her bloodstream. He frowned… still that odd aftertaste. He pondered on it as he fed, much like a sommelier contemplating the taste of a fine wine. A side effect, he decided, of the transfusions she would have undergone in hospital. It must be the taste of the blood of others mixing together with her own.

He kept at it until his own desire built to the point it could no longer be ignored. Freeing his bite from her skin, he leaned back to regard her, his tongue lapping the last few drops from his lips. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it to the little punctures and applying pressure until the flow stopped.

"Wouldn't do to bleed you dry," he murmured softly. "Certainly not…. I want you alive, more or less…."

When he was sure he had left no trace this time, he eased off the bed and back to the window, casting one last look back over his shoulder. Their tranquility wasn't natural, he knew, but he doubted anyone would notice. His effect would wear off within an hour, and they would waken normally in the morning….

Or rather, Mustang would. Hawkeye would be more… abnormal. More so than she already was, at any rate.

He left the way he had entered, starting a languid stroll down the nighttime street. It was a slow-motion plan, not his usual style at all, but he supposed there was no use in rushing things. One way or another, Roy Mustang was going to end up suffering as he watched the woman he loved vilify herself, body and soul, with no way to stop it. The man had a classic god complex, believed that he could save anyone from anything… but there was no saving her from what she was becoming.

Belatedly, he wondered if it would be enough. Would it be enough to destroy Mustang's spirit, when he was only one of the few who had ruined his life? Mustang and Hawkeye were representations of one aspect of his ruined life… but there were certainly others.

Musing on that thought, he disappeared into the nighttime streets. Perhaps he would follow up with those others, put a little healthy fear into them… but first, it was time he met – really _met with_ \- his current prey.

* * *

14 WILDROSE LANE

0200 HOURS, APRIL 14

In a darkened far-too-large bedroom of a far-too-large house, the man with no name snapped awake. Breathing — his own — sounded raspily in his ears amidst total silence. The night lay thick around the unfamiliar mansion, with no discernible danger present, and yet a strong presentiment had forced him from sleep.

Pushing aside the sheets, the man once known as Scar got carefully to his feet. Muscles burned with the mistreatment they had suffered, but he breathed past it. Walking slowly, stiffly, he made for the window. Heavy damask curtains were pulled aside, revealing the perfectly manicured neighbourhood. The perfectly _deserted_ neighbourhood.

That alone was unnerving, even without the feeling that something, somewhere, was about to go horribly wrong. Central had always had a slightly dirty feel for him, as though he had been coated in dust and hadn't yet had a chance to wash it off. That was how it had felt when the Homonculi's Father resided under the city, but now he was gone…. And the feeling had changed from dust to slime.

This feeling had been coming to him off and on for the past week or so, ever since he had first awakened in the Armstrong mansion. There was never any visible danger, and neither the female General or her assistant had told him of any odd, supernatural goings-on in the aftermath of the battle….

Here, in the privacy of the darkened room, he allowed himself a shudder of distaste. At least, in the next day or so, he would be smuggled out of the city and taken east. Taken home. Home to revive the land and reconstruct their crumbling cities. To rebuild everything in the name and image of Ishbala.

The sense of pride and anticipation swelled in his chest, displacing the oily feeling of dread, and he turned back toward the bed. He reminded himself not to get used to the plush mattress and the soft, silky sheets; there was no room or need for such luxuries in an Ishvalan home… but against his battered body, they did feel good.

Settling back against the feather pillow, he stared at the canopy overhead — what a pointless thing, unless you were going to use it as a sunshade — and thought of all the things there were to do to rebuild his country. Thoughts of home and of purpose helped keep the dread sensations of Central away.

As he drifted back down into sleep, a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he remembered something the female General had said. 'Mustang will piss his pants when he finds out that Scar is still alive.'

 _Yes. Alive.…._


	7. Plans and Plots

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Hopefully you all enjoyed last week's steamy chapter; here's a bit of a cold shower to help calm you down. And don't forget to check my profile for a new holiday fic on Christmas Day!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Seven - Plans and Plots**

UNNAMED BUILDING, CENTRAL CITY

0649 HOURS, APRIL 14

Waking up felt like dragging herself bodily out of a hole filled with molasses. Weariness dragged at her limbs, limbs that were stiff and protested use. Riza forced her eyes open and then promptly allowed them to fall closed again at the faint hints of sun beginning to glimmer through the window and past the curtain. _Too early…. Just let me stay here…._

He lay with his back to her, the two of them having rolled apart in the night. She moved close against the expanse of warm skin, smiling as the movement awakened a fainter, more localized ache farther down. A pleasurable ache, one that spoke volumes of the night before. If they both weren't still healing — needing all the sleep they could get — she wouldn't be above waking him to relive it all in technicolour.

 _Just once more. One more time before we have to leave here, leave where it's safe and no one cares what we do…._

But, no. She contented herself with slipping an arm across his chest, feeling his warmth seep into her as he shifted slightly in sleep. His hand found hers with a murmured noise of satisfaction, and Riza felt herself begin to drift back toward sleep…. The sweet oblivion that —

 _Oblivion._

Without warning, darkness welled up underneath her in a yawning abyss and gravity began its work of drawing her down, down, inexorably down. Her arm tightened around Roy, though his surprised gasp as he came awake went unheard. This was too much like the feeling in the hospital, when she had relapsed. She wanted to sleep, she had never wanted anything so badly in her life, just to sleep, to sink deeper in this comfortable bed and let the wallowing darkness claim her, have her —

"Riza, I'm sorry, but I don't know what else will work just please forgive me…."

She heard his voice and had a split second to wonder what in the world he could be begging forgiveness for… and then the slap echoed faintly in her ears as his palm connected with her cheek.

Her eyes flashed open with a gasp to find his — grey, unseeing, sick with worry — hovering over her. His hand returned to the side of her face, touching gently. "Talk to me, Riza, come on. Tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay." Her voice was so husky she barely recognized it herself. Awareness of her body and surroundings began to creep back in — she was on her back, him straddling her with the sheets tangled about them both and one hand still restlessly stroking her cheek, her neck, her hair. Blind eyes flickered back and forth as he processed the information his sense of touch gave him, his breathing rapid and shallow but beginning to settle as the panic receded. "I'm okay," she repeated, one hand reaching up to settle on his bare chest. "It's all right. I'm here."

He sat back, the hand that had been caressing her rising to rake back through his hair. "You scared the damn daylights out of me," he said, the words leaving on a rush of air. "I thought…. It felt like …." His throat worked, but stayed mute, unable to form the words 'you relapsed.'

Riza smiled ruefully, her eyes trailing down over that trim frame still sans pajamas from the night before. "Not one of my better wake-up calls," she admitted. "But then again, I wasn't trying to. I —"

A glaring scowl flashed onto his face in the space of an instant. "Don't you make light of this," he growled, leaning forward again. One finger wagged warningly in front of her nose; Riza noted that he was getting remarkably good at judging spatial awareness. "Don't you dare, Riza. You know what that was. We're getting you back to the hospital so they can look you over."

She caught his wrist as he made to move off of her, her voice calm and steady. "No, we're not. Stop for one second and listen." When she was sure she had his attention, she continued… knowing full well she was about to lie. "This isn't what you think it is. I think… I think I just had one of those falling dreams, like what happen sometimes as you're just about to fall asleep. Do I sound the way I did after the relapse in the hospital?" The glare in his eyes weakened, the scowl going slack. "I am coherent, I am awake, and I don't feel weak in the slightest. Look —"

Riza nudged his fingers into a loose fist, then cupped her hand over it and squeezed. Roy grimaced, visibly relenting. "Okay, okay. You've made your point."

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow with the other hand finding her arm. "It's going to take me a while to stop worrying over you," he said quietly, after a moment. "I just…. Every so often, I see that moment when that sword left your throat, and…." He shook his head. "I've got to get my sight back, and soon."

Regarding him curiously, she turned toward him, nestling close. "That much was obvious from the start. But now you seem… more anxious about it. What's changed?"

His face set. "I need to see for myself that you're all right. Not touch the scars, not give ineffective little kiss-it-betters…. I have to see it, Riza. The novelty of using different senses has worn off." He paused… then his expression relaxed into his trademark confident smirk, though with only perhaps half its usually cocksure quality. "And I need to see you."

"I'd call that a good reason." Her hand slid up the back of his neck into his hair, tugging him closer. "I want you to see me, too."

* * *

14 WILDROSE LANE, CENTRAL CITY

1025 HOURS, APRIL 14

They had barely mounted the front steps before the huge main doors swung open on a dim foyer. Riza tensed, and barely had time to push Roy to one side before diving in the opposite direction. Her Colonel let out a surprised yelp as he fetched up against the stone balustrade lining the front steps, somehow managing to catch himself as a large form blurred past.

Riza whirled on the spot as their assailant took a reactive leap off the steps, grinding to a stop on the gravel path below. Her hands, balled into loose fists and held ready, hesitated before lowering slightly. "Major?"

"Lieutenant! It's so wonderful to you back on your feet after your ordeal!" Armstrong beamed below his moustache, happy tears brimming at the corners of his smiling eyes. Either a trick of the light or her own still-low blood levels halfway convinced her that pink sparkles danced behind his head for a brief moment. He placed a foot back on the lowest step, arms held wide to embrace her. "Such a brave young woman, to face what you did and come through on the other side! It's a tale of courage, determination –"

She backed up a pair of steps, beginning to circle toward Roy. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think a hug from you would run the risk of reopening my wounds… they haven't completely healed over, and –"

"Nonsense!" He advanced another step, still smiling broadly. "Think of it as an exchange of positive energy! If anything, it will help you to heal more quickly! And Colonel, welcome back! You look as strong as ever, though I doubt you've seen it for yourself yet." Another step. "Positive energy certainly won't hurt you, either."

Riza glared, taking a protective half-step in front of Roy. Her voice lowered warningly. "Major…."

"Let him have his way," Roy muttered behind her. "It'll be quick and then it'll be over. It's easier than running."

But Riza was no longer listening. As Armstrong closed, his bulk blocking the sun and casting them both in shadow, she ducked one heavily muscled arm. Staying half-crouched, she gritted her teeth and pistoned her right fist out, socking it directly into his midsection. Armstrong stopped, surprised but not hurt, and Riza kept going. A second lightning-fast punch from her left hit the same space as the first, before the right drove into him again.

 _Right in the breadbasket_ , the phrase drifted vaguely through her mind. She doubted she had injured the big man – her own strength was laughable compared to his – but he had at least stopped his attempts to hug them both.

From behind, Roy's arms circled her, pinning her own to her sides as he nearly lifted her off the ground. "Hawkeye, what's gotten into you?!" he demanded. "Settle down!"

Her blood was up, feeling like it was simmering inside her veins, feeding the anger. But at the sound of his voice in her ear, the strong arms pressing her tight against his body… it morphed almost instantly from incipient rage to rampant desire. Flashes of the night before came to her memory, as vivid as if it were happening that exact moment.

She knew her cheeks were colouring with sexual heat, but she dropped her gaze to the steps, playing it off as embarrassment. "I'm – I'm so sorry, Major. I don't know what came over me."

Roy's arms loosened on her, lowering her fully back to the floor, and she almost groaned in disappointment. The smell of him, of his preferred brands of antiperspirant and cologne, swirled around her. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, and Riza began to hope this meeting wouldn't take long. She needed to get him alone, and soon.

Armstrong seemed to have fully realized that his exuberance was not entirely welcome, and settled instead for patting her head with a weighty hand. "No apologies necessary," he assured her, still smiling. "Reactionary defensiveness is very common after traumatic battles." He nodded approvingly. "And while not as effective as you may have hoped, those were good strikes. Solid technique."

"You should know, Alex," a new voice drawled from the foyer. "I have no doubt you had at least some hand in teaching her."

Emerging onto the steps, Olivier Mira Armstrong regarded her guests with close scrutiny in her ice-blue eyes, taking in Riza's still-wary posture and Roy's hands resting gently on her arms. "Considering that the last time I saw the two of you," she said, voice casual but lacking warmth, "you looked like you'd gone four rounds with a Briggs grizzly, I'd call this a marked improvement."

Riza had felt Roy's fingers tighten on her arms the first time Olivier had spoken, and his grip had not relented. "I'd say it's a pleasure to see you again, but I'm afraid that's a bit of a reach for me at the moment," he answered, just as coolly.

Silence held, broken only by songbirds in the lush estate gardens, with tension rising to crackle in the air. After a long moment, Olivier turned with a swish of her long blonde hair and re-entered the house. "Come on. We've got a meeting to hold, and I want to get it over with."

The warmth of the spring sun faded as they followed her into the massive old house, liveried servants pausing to bow to the young mistress and master as they passed, breaking into soft whispers among themselves as soon as the guests were out of earshot. Roy had been seen here before, but not the pale, fair-haired woman with him, and even the most disciplined of servants had the occasional spark of curiosity.

Olivier led them to a high-ceilinged, well-appointed parlour, gesturing them wordlessly to seats on a plush sofa to one side of a bay window. Heavy satin curtains flanked either side of the panelled glass, the sun being the room's only illumination. Riza's eyes travelled around the subtle opulence of the room — lush carpeting underneath, an ornate, unlit light fixture overhead, carefully painted delicate wooden scrollwork around the top of each wall. Against one wall was a writing desk next to a glossy roll-top cabinet and a pair of tall bookcases filled to capacity. In the far corner stood a gleaming baby grand piano, its keys covered but sheet music still spread on the little shelf at eye level.

Quietly directing Roy to his seat on the couch, she followed him down as the Armstrong siblings took their own seats in a pair of large, overstuffed armchairs. Olivier regarded the pair of them for a moment before speaking. "I would have thought the two of you would have applied for transfer out of this city the moment Grumman assumed control," she commented. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the only reason you were here was so that Bradley could better keep you under his thumb, wasn't it?"

Roy smiled grimly, leaning back against the soft back of the couch. "Is it so hard to believe, General, that I perhaps _deserved_ my promotion to Central?"

"Not so hard to believe," she retorted. "Though it does rankle, somewhat. Still, that you were able to use it to your advantage is a good sign." She paused, watching him closely. "Much as you'll do during your time in Ishval, I expect."

Roy remained still, his fingers laced together in his lap, his eyes closed. "…Does this mean you've given some thought to the request I gave you?"

Riza couldn't hold herself back from casting him a sidelong glance. Just what was he talking about? He hadn't said anything to her about a request to the Major-General, and she was fairly certain he would rather have eaten his own flames before asking her for any favour at all.

"I have, and I have likewise spoken to him about it." Blue eyes were hard as she looked at him. "I'm not about to give up my preferred assistant to you without asking for his input first. Much as I imagine it'd taken nothing short of a Presidential order to separate you from your Lieutenant." Her gaze flicked between the two of them. "And it would seem that even then, it isn't permanent."

"Neither do I intend this to be," Roy said firmly. "If Miles can help us in getting established, teaching us the culture so that we don't embarrass ourselves, and helping the Ishvalans to trust Amestrian soldiers again, I'd be more than happy to send him back to you when the purpose has been served."

"Good. I'd hate to have to take him back by force." Olivier snapped her fingers, a servant appearing through the doorway carrying two packages wrapped in brown paper. "Miles already agreed, and had these made up for you. He said that for starting out in the region, you're going to want to forget your uniforms. Too many people there are still skittish over the sight of Amestrian soldiers."

Accepting the parcel handed to her, Riza hefted it curiously. "Local clothing?"

"Exactly."

"You'll need some instruction in how to put it on," a voice said from another doorway behind the Armstrongs' chairs. Both Roy and Riza lifted their heads sharply, her eyes widening and his mouth falling open. Stepping forward from the shadows, still moving carefully due to his wounds, Scar regarded both of them calmly. "Some Ishvalan clothing requires a trick to put on properly."

Riza knew her muscles were tensing again, expecting an attack. Beside her, she felt Roy force himself to relax. "I must be hallucinating," he said mildly. "I could swear that's the voice of what I was told was a dead man."

He didn't see the tiniest twitch of the scarred man's lips that was a minute smile. "There are plenty of ghosts in Ishvalan legends, Colonel."

Sitting back in her chair with a satisfied smirk, Olivier folded her arms. "Our friend here will also be accompanying you to Ishval on this trip," she said. "He and Miles will work together with both you and the Ishvalan remnant to ensure the continuation of religious and cultural practices, and to help the two of you understand what you and your team will be dealing with."

Roy nodded in understanding. "That will be a great help. Certainly more than I expected." He grinned. "You'll run me neck-deep into debt with you for this, General. Or was that your intention?"

"Of course it was." Her smirk widened. "Someone has to make sure an insolent upstart like you stays in your place."

Silent and still for the majority of the discussion, Alex now stirred, his bass voice a rumble in the dim room. "All this is, of course, dependent on the murder investigation's timeline," he said. "Our new Führer-President has informed me that both the Colonel and Lieutenant are to take the lead on trying to find out just who this killer is."

"It's true," Riza confirmed. "We've spoken to two of our sources already, but they haven't been able to tell us much. Whoever is behind this, they're doing a remarkable job of keeping themselves out of the sight of witnesses and the military police." She looked sideways at Roy. "We'll keep looking for anything new, but it could take a while yet."

"Ishval has waited several years for restoration," Scar said, his arms folded over his chest. "It can wait a little longer; we know it's coming, and we understand it takes time." His tiny smile was tight. "Our people are nothing if not patient."

* * *

14 WILDROSE LANE, CENTRAL CITY

1407 HOURS, APRIL 14

It was early afternoon by the time they left the Armstrong family mansion, having spent a few hours ironing out details of the trip with Scar and being pressured into staying for lunch by Alex. At last, with Riza claiming — falsely — that her injuries still required her to rest every so often, they made their escape.

Pacing up the street past the walled-off estates of Central's well-to-do, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, Roy frowned thoughtfully. "This is all falling into place much more quickly than I'd anticipated," he said, eyes open but directed toward the ground as though he could see the sidewalk before him. "I hadn't expected everyone to be ready so soon."

"We _did_ lose a week being in hospital," Riza pointed out. "If anything, we're starting in last place while everyone else had a head start, as well as having the investigation to take up our time."

"True." He threw her a grin. "You always did work best under a time crunch."

"I seem to recall that's how you complete most office work," she shot back, squeezing his arm to indicate the remark's affection. They sobered, continuing to walk in silence for another few moments before Roy spoke again.

"…The cemetery is near here, isn't it?"

"Another few hundred metres on the left." She smiled, glancing sideways at him. "I take it you'd like to visit him?"

"Might be the last chance I have for a while." His expression was somber, his voice soft but calm. He was becoming introspective, she could see, his thoughts turning to ones of his late friend. Riza didn't reply; she merely squeezed his arm again, a sign that she understood.

There were a few more people among the graves than usual, and Riza wondered if the Promised Day had swelled the cemetery's population at all. Either soldiers with family plots here, or perhaps anyone too young, old, or frail to withstand their souls being ripped out and slammed back home. She fought a shudder, knowing it would only worry Roy.

The path to their destination was a familiar one, and Roy walked easily along the packed earth trails and over the short-trimmed grass. Almost without Riza's guidance, he found his way to the correct headstone, facing it as he drew to a halt. Silence held for a long moment, both of them taking time to look at the carefully engraved name and military emblem, or — in Roy's case — simply reflect. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head.

"Hughes, you missed a hell of a party."

Riza clamped down on the sudden urge to laugh at the off-hand remark, reminding herself sternly that this was a serious moment. You didn't laugh in a graveyard, especially not when it was Roy's obvious attempt to lighten his darkening mood. Slipping her hand from his arm, she touched his shoulder lightly. "If you want some time alone, that's fine with me," she said quietly. "I'll come back when you're done."

His smile for her was more of the lip twitch Scar's had been, before he nodded. His eyes were closed again, though in contemplation or emotion she didn't know. "Yeah, sure. Thank you."

Riza stepped close to the headstone before she left, pressing a kiss to her fingers and touching them to the smooth granite before she moved back toward the path. The gesture left her with goosebumps rising on her arms, and this time, she gave in to the shudder.

She walked slowly, her hands folded behind her, looking idly at the names on headstones and the flowers and offerings left at their bases. It had never escaped her notice how much time she and Roy spent in graveyards, at least compared to normal people. Oddest of all, it was how they had drawn as close as they had, standing in front of that lonely, plain stone after burying her father….

She gave herself a mental shake, willing the images from the past to dissipate. It didn't do to dwell on it, that was for certain. Looking up, toward the tall mausoleums at the top of the hill, she turned her steps in that direction. The few people that were about were even fewer up there, and just right now, she preferred to be alone.

Thoughts of returning to Ishval began filtering in. What would it feel like, she wondered, to walk those sands again? Not there to wound, this time, but to heal? Perhaps there would be more than one kind of healing, as well. In healing the land and the people, Riza harboured a desire to heal herself and Roy for what they had done. It seemed only fitting.

She breathed out a sigh, looking up at the name engraved over the entrance of the first mausoleum. Not one she recognized, but the sight of the scaled-down columns and pantheon-like structure brought another wave of thoughts. Did _he_ have some crypt like this? A chill crawled up her back at the thought that the man she had spent six months fearing was somewhere close by.

 _Surely not_ , she tried to reassure herself, reading over the names on other tombs as she continued along the row. _Surely he'd be buried in the military cemetery closer to Headquarters, wouldn't he? Or even on the grounds themselves…._

She made it to the end of the row of crypts without the name 'Bradley' appearing on any of them, relief settling like a calming blanket over her shoulders as her tension fell away. Chiding herself for her own silliness — _the man is dead, what can he do to you now?_ – she turned back the way she'd come… and paused.

Standing in front of the next-to-last mausoleum on the north side was a man, wearing a dark suit and matching hat, his hands in his pockets as he considered the façade with the quiet interest of someone attending an art gallery. Some sense of distaste or distrust pushed Riza to avoid him, but she ignored it. Armstrong had to have been right: following the trauma of the Promised Day, she'd let herself become needlessly jumpy. She had to have more control than this. Starting back along the path, she kept her eyes resolutely from the man, passing behind him on the packed earth.

"Such wonderful detail we put into resting places for the dead," he commented, just as she passed. "More than into our own homes while we're among the living. It seems strange, doesn't it, given that those it's for aren't around to appreciate it."

Riza stopped in her tracks at the first few words, but didn't turn, only glancing back over her shoulder. "…I believe it's considered a mark of respect to give the dead this kind of luxury," she commented. "And you can't take your wealth with you, so why not spend it on funeral arrangements?"

The man chuckled, not turning to look at her. "You make excellent points. Don't tell me you've spent time considering it all? Morbid thoughts shouldn't be held by lovely women."

Irritation flashed red-hot through her head, and Riza turned away. She had only been gone from Roy for maybe ten minutes, but suddenly she needed to be near him again, if only so strange men wouldn't speak to her unnecessarily.

She made it three steps before a hand closed on her arm. Just before it made contact, she heard the man's silky smooth voice. "Don't go away angry, Lieutenant. It was merely innocent conversation."

In the next instant, the anger overpowered the irritation and contempt, and she whirled. Her hand came up, catching the man's wrist. Far from the expression of surprise she had thought would be on his face, she found only a wide grin, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. Her eyes went to that broad smile at the same time as her palm pressed to his chest.

He jumped backward in time with her shove, lessening the impact and widening the gap between them. His free hand lifted to hold his hat in place as he landed lightly on the steps of the mausoleum, still smiling.

"Such _anger_ in you," he commented, sounding nearly gleeful. "I always knew it had the potential to be there, but you keep yourself so ruthlessly in check, I never thought I'd see it."

Riza felt her eyes narrow, holding her place on the path but ready to bolt if necessary. "First, you know my title and now you claim you know my mind." She was beginning to wish she'd brought a gun, but it hadn't seemed necessary. "Who are you?"

The man's answer was simply to tug the brim of his hat politely. "Who I am is my own business for the time being. You'll find out soon enough. Though I'm not here to talk about myself; I'm here to talk about _you_." He sat down on the steps, propping his chin in one hand with the elbow resting on his bent knee. He kept his head ducked, the brim of the hat still hiding most of his face. "You were wounded recently. How are you recovering?"

She didn't answer, still standing ready for whatever this odd stranger might throw at her. Brown eyes watched him cautiously, taking time to memorize details for later identification. Male, perhaps six feet tall without the hat, well-spoken, voice well-modulated. Fashionable clothing that was obviously tailored to fit his trim frame. She turned her attention to his face as he lifted his head, to note the details there… and felt her stomach drop.

It wasn't that his pale face was utterly devoid of features. He had eyes, a nose, a mouth, ears… everything required by a normal human face. However, it was as though she were looking at it through running water that was none too clear. The features seemed to change and shift every second or so, rippling in and out of focus, changing at random. Riza blinked, confused by the apparition…. The man's smile widened.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" he drawled. "You look as though something has shocked you."

She held her silence, trying to train her eyes on one feature at a time in hopes of recognizing the man behind the strange mask. Focused as she was, she did not notice the subtle shifts and tension of his body until it was too late.

The man lunged, covering the ground between them faster than she would have thought possible, bowling her over completely as he tackled her around the midriff. The air left her lungs as she landed hard on her back in the dirt; she heard it go in a convulsive gasp.

Unable to move, she was dimly aware of the sensation as the man leaned over her, one knee either side of her. _Like Roy, this morning_ , she thought vaguely, struggling to draw breath. The shifting mask remained in place as his spoke, his lips wavering and shimmering inches away from hers.

"I met you here to explain something," he said, as casually as though he were talking about the weather. "You're going through a very special time in your life, and your body is changing. You're going to notice that some things are… different." He wagged a finger in mock admonishment. "But you shouldn't think you're all that different from all the other young ladies."

Flashbacks of her early teenage years came back. _He sounds like a Physical Health teacher_ , came the disjointed thought. Her mind swam from lack of oxygen; she still couldn't breathe. _Changing bodies, hormones, no different than other girls_ —

The man grinned, sliding a sensual hand down the curve of her neck. "But don't worry, Lieutenant…. All will be clear once it's over. Once you're… complete. And until then…."

His finger hooked into the collar of her shirt, tugging it away from her skin as he leaned down. Riza squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body tensing as his tongue trailed over the still-healing scar, his lips pressing to the damp patch directly after. "You can remember me by that."

A trickle of air worked its way down her throat, and Riza felt her muscles unlock from their tight posture. For the second time that day, she formed a fist, and concentrated on pouring as much power into it in the short distance available.

The man moved too quickly for her to register, and her blow socked harmlessly into the palm of his hand. His smile widened. "Ah, there's that fiery attitude I remember…. Small wonder you chose to work with the _Flame_ Alchemist. Or perhaps it's something he instilled in you over the years?" He cocked his head curiously. "Did you leave a blind man on his own to go wandering about? Such an odd displacement of character, for a bodyguard to leave such a vulnerable body. And I thought you took such pride in your work…."

"He can… look after… himself…" she gritted, still only able to draw a half-breath at a time. "So can… I…."

She pushed upward with her hips, twisting and pushing with her captured hand at the same time to send him sideways into the dirt. As soon as she felt him separate from her, she rolled quickly in the opposite direction, distancing herself.

As suddenly as he had attacked her, he pushed away and to his feet, dusting himself off in a dignified fashion. Behind the running-water mask, she saw his tongue dart out and dash across his lips. "It's been a pleasure seeing you again," he said, some dark sentiment lurking behind a sneering smile. "And I'm sure it won't be long before the next time. Take care."

Her breath was returning as he set off toward one of the high walls surrounding the cemetery. Getting to her feet, Riza drew as deep a breath as she could manage, feeling a residual ache in her chest. She forced her feet into motion after the man; instincts from her years in uniform guided her to bring him down, subdue him, then drag him to Roy.

He must have sensed her coming. Without turning around, he sprinted away, still heading toward the blank wall, one hand holding his hat to his head. He could have kept running straight, just made for the little gate in the wall, but just before he met the row of graves running parallel to the stone, he veered to the left. Gritting her teeth, Riza angled after him, closing the distance only for a moment before his greater speed drew him farther in front. A moment later, he changed tack again, heading directly for the wall, flying over a gravestone with inches to spare.

Just when she thought he would collide with the heavy stone blocks, he leapt… and she ground to a shocked halt. The man scaled the sheer surface like a four-legged spider, and disappeared over the top without so much as a backward glance.

Gradually, she began to realize she was standing here, gaping at a blank wall like an idiot. Closing her mouth, she cast a swift look around the area, but none of the grave visitors was paying her any mind; they were all absorbed in their own business, their own grief.

Her chest still ached from its long seconds without air, but that was fading. Riza focussed inward for a moment, checking for any other potential injury… and found nothing. Her breathing was noticeably slow, and shallow. Perhaps that was an aftereffect of being slammed airlessly to the ground.

Slowly, she turned back the way she'd come, eyeing the graves she had dashed past seconds before. She didn't rightly know just how long she had left Roy on his own for, but she knew from experience just how long he could spend talking to his late friend. He wouldn't mind.

Her thoughts drifted back to the man with the strange rippling effect over his face, running over the encounter again and again for new clues. He had seemed to have known her, but that wasn't unheard of. With as much press as Roy and his team had gotten following the Promised Day, and even for their work in the Eastern region, she'd had her photograph in the newspapers and her name on radio broadcasts several times over.

But no, he hadn't known _of_ her. He had _known_ her. That much was clear from phrases he'd used. He'd known facts about her personality — the way she kept all emotion in check when on the job, her protectiveness of Roy, the way her temper flared when she _did_ loosen her grip on it…. And then, there had been his insinuation he had seen her before.

Frowning intently, her eyes on the path, she tried to coalesce that shimmering, half-hidden face into a recognizable one. Dark hair, she had seen that much, though with that hat, length was anyone's guess. Pale skin, but she hadn't been able to tell face shape. Had he had facial hair? Hard to say. Eye colour…. One moment it had appeared dark, then perhaps blue or green….

Sighing in frustration, she gave up the exercise for the moment. She was too rattled, too worked up to think clearly enough for an accurate summation.

Coming down the hill, she looked up, searching along the rows ahead until she spotted the figure, seated cross-legged on the ground in front of a grave, his hands folded in his lap and his long coat pooled around him on the grass. Just that sight — when he was calm and about as relaxed as he ever got — helped to settle her. The knowledge that he was alive and well and healing… and would be able to see her again with those powerful dark eyes….

She nearly tripped over her own feet, coming to a halt as something from the night before jumped forward from her memory. Nothing Roy had done, nothing she had said… something _Casella_ had said. One hand rose to her mouth, not quite in time to catch the curse that dropped from her lips.

Reports of the killer's appearance differed widely, because what few witnesses there were couldn't get a clear look at his appearance. That was commonplace in any investigation. But what sent a chill racing up her spine was one phrase in particular.

 _The guy you're looking for could climb sheer walls._


	8. Bad Things Come in Threes

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and happy (almost) holidays! I'll just leave this week's chapter right here, but don't forget to check my profile on Tuesday for a new holiday fic! Warning: this chapter contains mention of serious violence and descriptions of blood._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Eight - Bad Things Come in Threes**

ROY'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0347 HOURS, APRIL 15

The ringing of the telephone jolted him awake from an already uneasy sleep. For a moment, he lay frozen in disorientation – his eyes were open, he knew, but everything was utterly black. Gradually, memory of where he was and why he couldn't see returned, and he rolled onto his side, fumbling cautiously for the phone.

He caught it on the fifth ring, swallowing hard as he brought it to his ear to hide the sleep in his voice. "Hello?"

" _Sorry to wake you, sir. I've got news._ "

Dropping onto his back, Roy breathed a long sigh, his free hand reaching up to massage tired eyes. "Go ahead, Fuery. What have you heard? And what time is it?"

" _It's nearly oh-four-hundred, sir. I had a call from the military police earlier tonight._ " The young man's voice was calm on the surface, but the quick way he spoke and the clipped sound of the words belied his anxiety. " _They say they've found a body that might be that missing hospital administration clerk._ "

Roy lay still, processing the information even as it brought him more fully awake. "What description did they give of it?"

" _They've been working from her hospital I.D., but the body's torn up pretty badly._ " Fuery explained. " _They were able to match height, approximate weight, eye colour… but that's about it. They have a request in for her dental records, but those could take a day or two. Dr. Knox says he's still swamped with all the casualties from the battle._ "

Doubt was beginning to percolate through the earlier interest. "And do they have a suspect?" He felt his stomach clench involuntarily. "Please don't tell me they think it's the Jameson and Walston killer."

" _Sorry, sir. This has all the hallmarks of our guy and then some. The body was found by the river, in that little wooded area off of Tenth Street? She must have already been worked over, but in the day or two since she went missing… well, let's say that this serial killer isn't the only animal in the city."_

"…I see." Roy bit thoughtfully at the inside of his lower lip, trying to puzzle out how to proceed. "I don't suppose we have any witnesses either. Anyone who had seen her would have come forward when they heard she was missing."

" _No, sir. Just the man who found the body, and she's been here long enough that the killer is long gone._ "

He tried not to let his exhale sound too much like a sigh of defeat. "All right. Let the MPs know that Hawkeye and I will be there inside of an hour. And, Fuery?" He paused a moment, making sure he had the younger man's attention. "Good work with this. You've had a lot thrown at you in the last couple of weeks, and you're handling it well."

There was no mistaking the note of happy pride. " _Thank you, sir!_ "

Hanging up, Roy stayed flat on his back for another minute, processing it all again. What had been intended as a quiet, restful night was once again curtailed by business. The familiar deep cushions of the couch were almost achingly comfortable, nudging him back toward sleep… but there was a job to do.

Turning onto his stomach, he picked up the phone once again, careful fingers counting over the holes in the dial until the tenth. A single spin later, the operator came on the line. Giving her the number he wanted, Roy folded his arms over the end of the couch, listening for the telltale rings.

There was a single one before she picked up, her voice even and calm without a single trace of the weariness that accompanied being woken. " _Hello_?'

Feeling taken aback, he hesitated for a bare second before he could marshal himself to speak. "Hey. Good morning, sunshine."

She laughed quietly. " _The sun isn't even up yet, Roy._ "

"I didn't think you would be either, but here we are," he retorted. "I just had a call from Fuery. There's been some movement on the case, and we're needed over on Tenth. Could I impose on you to swing by and pick me up?"

Her reply was immediate, dropping into her usual business-like fashion in the space of a blink. " _Of course. Did he say what we've got?_ "

"Probable new victim. The admin clerk that went missing the night before we checked out of the hospital." He hesitated, then added, "I _can_ find my own way there, if you want to try and get some sleep. No offense, but you picked up awfully fast for four o'clock in the morning."

There was a long stretch of silence on the line, and the normal crackle of static sounded uncomfortably like forming ice crystals in the coldness of it. "… _I'm fine, sir,_ " she answered at last. " _Hayate woke me up and I hadn't fallen back to sleep yet. Don't worry._ "

Had he been able to see, he would have been glaring daggers at the wall. "Strike one, Riza. Try again."

Another long silence, but her voice was softer when she finally spoke. " _You of all people know insomnia is nothing new to me. Especially during high-stakes circumstances like this._ " She paused, waiting for him to interject, then continued when he didn't. " _Let's not waste time worrying about it now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes; do you need me to walk up and get you?_ "

Reluctantly turning from the subject of her disrupted sleep cycle, he sat upright, running a hand back through his hair. "I'll meet you downstairs. Just try not to hit me if I end up in the middle of the street."

" _I'll try,_ " she promised, smiling, and hung up.

He dropped the receiver back into the cradle, but didn't stand. Frowning, he played over what had happened. Riza was right; it wasn't unusual for her to lose some sleep in high-stress circumstances or even after major events had concluded. But that was always during or immediately after, never almost two weeks.

This was new. Different. And when he couldn't see to confront the problem, Roy liked it even less than he usually did.

 _Well,_ he reasoned, _I can always press her for more information on the drive._ Shaking the thoughts from his head, he stood carefully and felt his way to where he had discarded his clothes on a nearby chair. It was back to business.

* * *

RIZA'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0401 HOURS, APRIL 15

She hung up the telephone, and turned back to where she had left her half-full mug of tea on the kitchen counter. Though normally an early riser, she was more accustomed to five a.m. than the three-thirty she had woken up at. Despite only four hours of sleep or so, she had felt energized and ready to go, no matter what was in the offing. She had dressed, made her customary morning cup of tea, and been going over yesterday's copy of the Central Times when the phone rang.

She tossed back the last of the tea in a trio of quick swallows before leaving the cup in the sink and heading toward the bathroom. Hayate — still sleepy at this early hour — opened one eye to watch her from the bed, then closed it again. His mistress's odd hours never seemed to faze him; so long as he had a spot to nap and food in his bowl, he was content.

A quick brush through her hair and another on her teeth later, she turned off the lights, dropped a swift pat on Hayate's head, and pulled on her boots before slipping out the door.

She loved the quiet of the early morning, this time before the world itself even thought of waking up. Such calm, such peace…. After the last few weeks, that was all she wanted. Peace, quiet… preferably with Roy…. Distractedly, she reached up to run a hand through her hair, her memory calling up images of his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, those sightless eyes distant in concentration as he -

She emerged from the door at the bottom of the stairwell in the cool spring predawn, the fresh air yanking her back to the present. Shaking her head to clear it, she started for the small parking lot where she had left their borrowed car. It bothered her, on some quiet level, that she was lately so preoccupied with getting him into bed at every opportunity that presented itself, no matter how slim. It had never been that way before, though she supposed the forcible six-month separation played a role in it. Even so, she had to have more control than this. There was work to do, and she refused to let her work and personal lives mix too closely.

Settling herself into the old familiar mental space of soldier/bodyguard, she took a deep breath. She would ask Roy about the… about their recent uptick in bedroom activities, get his opinions on it. A smile tugged at her mouth as she realized what he would have to say if she phrased the question in that exact way.

 _Three hundred cenz words, Riza. Not fair._

And there she was, thinking about getting him into bed again. She paused, the key in the car's door lock, trying to get her thoughts under control. It didn't come so easily this time, and what calm she managed felt frayed around the edges by concern. Had the events of the Promised Day and the months leading up to it really changed her that much, that she no longer had control over her own thoughts and emotions?

Out of nowhere, as she slid behind the wheel, the anger flared. Anger at herself, at the nebulous concept of _feelings_. It was so… so _useless_ , all of it! She had a job to do, and that job required her to keep her emotions in check while at work. She couldn't afford to be distracted by feelings when she was needed for other things. So why did she suddenly have so much trouble controlling herself when it came to whatever the current configuration of brain chemicals was?

As suddenly as it had arrived, the anger faded back into the general turmoil inside. Taking another deep breath, Riza started the vehicle, flipped on the headlights, and put it in gear. She eased onto the street, starting east toward Roy's apartment through the near-deserted streets of Central.

"Nothing to worry about," she murmured to herself, watching the street lamps and pavement move smoothly past. "Still in control. Still all right."

Perhaps, she thought, she was merely experiencing something she had only ever heard of. There had been reports — not widely published ones, but reports all the same — of men returning from Ishval that displayed irregularities and high emotions after the trauma they had seen. Riza had suffered nightmares and loss of sleep over her time there, had refused to speak of it for months, but nothing truly… detrimental.

If anything was going to traumatize her worse than Ishval, it would have been the feeling of her own blood seeping through her fingers. She felt herself beginning to relax into the seat. Yes, that had to be it — the Promised Day had scared her in a way she hadn't thought possible before, and these were the consequences. Both needing to feel something and feeling too much, all at once.

Making a right turn, she smiled, the light from the streetlamps illuminating the expression. Well, now that that was settled, she would be able to focus more on the task at hand. And if she needed someone to talk to about this… this emotional imbalance, for lack of a better term, she would call Major Armstrong. His own emotional breakdown had led to his refusal to comply and subsequent dismissal from the Ishvalan front; if anyone knew what it was like, it would be him.

Feeling calmer, she drove on. When her stomach flipped like a lovesick schoolgirl's at the sight of him waiting for her on the sidewalk, she didn't question the emotion.

* * *

RIVERSIDE DRIVE AND TENTH STREET, CENTRAL CITY

0451 HOURS, APRIL 15

They emerged from the car into light tendrils of mist curling off the slow-moving river. Headlights from military police vehicles and an ambulance lit the vapour as it swirled in a light breeze that rustled the crime scene tape and the coats of the men closest to the vehicles.

With his hand in the crook of Riza's elbow, Roy listened to the voices grow louder as they approached. When he heard them die away, he judged that he must have their attention. "Good morning, everyone," he said grimly. "I understand there's been some excitement." When no one answered, he turned in the direction of the one voice he had recognized. "Breda? Fill us in."

Footsteps approached, and papers rustled as a file was passed; he felt the movement as Riza reached out to take it. "Nothing new to report, Boss," the redheaded man said. "If it's the administration clerk, she's in civilian clothes instead of her hospital uniform, and she doesn't seem to have any ID on her."

"Would you mind if I had a look?" Riza said quietly. "If it's who we suspect, I may have spoken with her before she disappeared. If I did, I might recognize her."

"Lieutenant, there's… not much left to recognize." Breda sounded uncomfortable, as though he were grimacing as he spoke. Given the man's preference for game boards over battlefields, Roy could certainly understand. "You remember what Mr. Walston looked like? Take that, but there's also damage to the face and… chest area."

Something churned sickeningly in Roy's stomach at that thought, and he felt Riza's arm tense beneath his hand. "I understand," she said calmly, still quiet. "But if we're going to consult productively on this, we still need to see the crime scene itself."

With a sigh that sounded distinctly resigned, Breda's footsteps turned away and changed from gritting gravel to swishing grass. "Okay, sir, you win. She's down by the pedestrian bridge to the left there. Go slow, though; the ground's kind of muddy and I don't think the Colonel wants to go ass over teakettle into the river."

"I do hate swimming," Roy remarked offhandedly.

The descent of the riverbank was somewhat steep, slow, and felt probably twice as precarious as it actually was. Riza went in front of him, murmuring soft direction back to him, and one point turning to hold him by both hands as he negotiated a slight drop in the riverside rocks. Her fingers, Roy noted, were icy cold; the cool spring dawn would have her shivering lightly before long.

More voices floated up from the near distance, Fuery's distinct among them along with Armstrong's bass rumble. Both of them approached at Breda's call, joining the little party just inside the crime scene proper, as Riza told him.

"Doctor Knox has indicated that dental identification will have to wait until she arrives at the coroner's office," Armstrong informed them, after perfunctory greetings. "Until his transport arrives, we're just trying to gather what evidence we can."

"The hospital wanted to send the senior administrator to try and identify her," Fuery added in, sounding subdued. "But we dissuaded him to wait until we get the dental records and see if they match." His voice grew slightly muffled, and Roy surmised he was looking back over his shoulder at the body. "No need to expose people to this if we can avoid it."

Roy grimaced. "That bad, is it?" When neither man answered, it confirmed the fact. "I see. Well, let's not waste time."

He followed Riza forward, waiting for the quiet intake of breath that would be her involuntary gasp of surprise… and was surprised himself when it didn't come. Instead, she spoke in a detached kind of voice, articulating the scene. "Female victim, probably about five-foot-six, maybe one hundred thirty pounds." He felt the motion of neck and shoulder muscles as her head turned, scanning the area. "She's out in the open, as much as she can be under a bridge like this. The ground is partly rocks, partly sandy dirt, hardly any grass or weeds. The river is a fair distance away — maybe twenty feet."

Frowning in concentration, letting his imagination paint the scenery he couldn't see, Roy waited a moment before speaking. "Does she look like she's been in the water at all?"

A pause. "No, sir. Her hair and clothes are both dry. Rumpled, dirty, and covered with her blood, but not mussed in a way that suggests they were soaked and then dried on her."

The grimace was coming on again, but he held it back. "You said she's covered in blood?"

An edge of distaste filtered into Riza's otherwise clinical tone. "Yes, sir. The body is in much the same condition as Walston's was. Blood everywhere, and the throat torn out." Her head turned, the words taking on a slight fade as she directed her next question elsewhere. "Has anyone checked the lividity of the body? To see if it's similar to what we discovered at the Walston scene?"

"I told them not to so much as touch the body before I could get here," a new voice said, from just behind. A moment later, Knox clapped Roy on the shoulder as he passed, a rattle sounding from the direction he'd come as more newcomers set up what Roy could only guess was a gurney to transport the body. "Bad enough that I'm already overworked with cases from the battle two weeks ago," the older man grumbled. "Now I can't even sleep through the night without getting a call."

"High demand is the price of being too good at your job," Roy commented, deciding not to mention that they had all been pulled from bed as well. "I'm glad you could make it out, though."

"That makes one of us," the other shot back. His voice, forward from Roy's position, sounded from low down, presumably as he crouched beside the body. "What time was she found?"

"Approximately three a.m.," Fuery answered. "Or at least, that's when the MPs received the call. Give or take ten minutes for the discovery to be called in from the nearest public phone."

Roy could hear Knox muttering indistinctly to himself as he worked, the sound of a clasped bag being open, metal tools clinking against other metal tools, and Breda's choked-off noise of disgust at some coroner's field procedure all hanging in the damp night air. Finally, Knox spoke audibly.

"Whatever finished this young lady, it did so over twenty-four hours ago," he said grimly. "Tell me something: have there been recent reports of animal attacks in this area?

"Not to our knowledge," Breda replied. His voice sounded slightly thick to Roy, as though the redheaded man were struggling with some kind of lump in his throat. He began to suspect that perhaps the crime scene was in danger of being contaminated. "But it _does_ fit in with our working theory on the recent serial killer attacks."

There was a long moment of silence before Knox's low voice came again. "…You think a human did this? Human teeth and jaws?"

Riza stirred minutely. "That's the theory we've been operating under," she confirmed. "Do you believe differently?"

Boots shifted on dirt as Knox changed position, followed by more silence. "Well… I'm not an expert on dentition, but I'm not a complete novice either," he said at last. "Without proper light to see by… I can see where you would get the impression that a human did this. But there are similarities to a large animal as well, something like a wolf or some kind of big cat."

"We weren't going on teeth marks as a sign of human involvement," Riza commented, her tone dark. "At the Walston house, there was a scrap of human tissue found in the sink. The same sink where the killer is thought to have cleaned himself up." The brief pause was heavy with grim meaning. "It's our thought that if he cleaned himself up there, he may have also cleaned his teeth."

Another shuffle of movement, and Knox's voice spoke from its usual height. "I'm not saying you're wrong," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "But if that's the case, you have a particularly twisted psychopath on your hands. One with an extremely strange dental arrangement. Here, have a look."

Riza's shoulder slipped from under Roy's hand as she stepped forward. Knox kept speaking. "Here and here…. Those are marks from canine teeth. In a normal human mouth, they are somewhat pointed, their purpose being to pierce food in order to tear it. But the impressions from these canine teeth are much deeper than I would expect of a normal human bite; they've pierced deeper than they ought to have, especially in relation to the surrounding teeth."

Breda chimed in, his frown evident. "If I'm following correctly, Doc, you're saying whoever did this… their canine teeth are longer than the average humans? More pointed?"

"Exactly."

Folding his arms, now that one no longer needed to rest on Riza's shoulder, Roy tried to picture what Knox was saying. "This could be a potential clue to the killer's identity," he pointed out. "If it _is_ a human, that sort of condition can't be common. If this guy has seen a dentist at all, it's something they would be bound to remember."

"I think you're right, Colonel." Knox was still thoughtful, but beginning to sound more and more disturbed by it all. "The more I think about it, the more I believe this isn't the work of an animal."

Riza's voice was quiet, but firm. "If it were an animal," she said, moving back toward Roy, "there would be more of this woman missing. Not to be vulgar, but… an animal wouldn't leave this much of a perfectly good meal to go to waste."

Roy shuddered, partly from the ghoulishness of it, partly from the blank, detached tone of her voice as the hammer-heavy words dropped off her tongue.

* * *

DERELICT BUILDING, EAST CITY

0500 HOURS, APRIL 15

He slid his discorporate form through the gaps in the warped metal door frame, down dusty, cobwebbed hallways to the dark, windowless rooms in the centre. He had congratulated himself on such a perfectly appointed place, and even though it had been little more than functionally decrepit when he had made it here, it hadn't stopped him.

He thought of it as his nest. A place of refuge and relaxation where he could take his ease in between hunts as he waited for her to follow him. He had given her enough clues that she ought not to be long now.

The man took a deep breath of the musty air as he entered the room, brushing dust from his clothes. The black suit wasn't his usual style, but it would have to do, with all the nighttime skulking he did. Perhaps when she joined him, he could find something that better fit his style; getting caught was less of a concern when one had backup.

Stripping off the jacket, he moved toward the metal tub of water to one side of the little encampment he had set up. Loosening the necktie, he shed it and the white shirt as well into the water. Blood seeped out of both articles, turning the water a faint shade of pink. The man threw the jacket in with them.

A faint taste of the men still lingered at the back of his mouth. Both had tasted strongly of the cheap beer that had been in their hands and on their clothes as the man attacked, but that hadn't prevented either from becoming a meal. Taking a long stick, the man swirled the clothes around the washtub, watching the water turn redder. _Dinner and drinks_ , he mused humourlessly to himself. Not that alcohol bothered him unduly anymore.

It continued to amaze and amuse him, the way it was detectable in the blood that a person lived their life. A lush tasted of their preferred alcohol. Someone that ate altogether too much red meat tasted sharply of the blood present in a good rare steak. A caffeine addict would taste of their latest cup of coffee or tea.

So far, the Lieutenant was the exception. The man had yet to pinpoint the reason, but her blood…. It called to him all the more for the way it tasted. She tasted of warmth and light. Of ash and soot.

Riza Hawkeye tasted of fire.

He supposed, since the long-suspected carnal aspect of her relationship to Mustang had been confirmed, that he could be the reason for that flavour. But how did it reach the bloodstream? Anything ingested eventually did in one way or another, such as alcohol, food, or coffee. But flames?

He pondered the questions as he scrubbed at the bloodied clothes, washing the stains from the fabric, and coming up empty of answers. Well, it would be something to figure out once she was his. They would have all the time in the world to discover the reason together.

Vaguely, he wondered when he had decided to keep her as some sort of pet, instead of using her to hurt her commanding officer and casting her aside once her usefulness was ended. He supposed he felt responsible for her now, in a way. He had sparked something in her, something that no one else could have done. He was creating a masterpiece, and he wanted to keep it within sight where he could marvel at it, enjoy its beauty.

Wringing the water from his clothes, he laid them over exposed, dead electrical wires to dry before retiring to the small cot close by. He stretched full length upon it, lying on his back, and folded his hands over his ribs. Two days, he estimated, and she would be here. Sooner or later, she would figure out where he was, and then….

Then, she would come and the real fun would begin.

As the first rays of dawn peeped over the eastern horizon in the world outside, the man smiled. His eyes drifted out of focus but remained open… and he slept.

* * *

RIZA'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0745 HOURS, APRIL 15

She had only just unlocked the door when the phone inside began to ring. Giving one soft, exasperated sigh, Riza tucked her keys back into her pocket and reached back to take Roy's hand.

He squeezed her fingers once and let go, smiling. "Go ahead and answer," he said softly. "I can find my way, don't worry."

Stepping over Hayate as he came toward the door with a wagging tail, Riza murmured a quiet "Stay, boy," before crossing quickly to the table and scooping up the receiver on the third ring. "Hello?"

" _Oh good, you're home._ " Rebecca's voice was full of obvious relief, her words clipped by tension. " _I've been calling for an hour! Where have you been?!_ "

"Out at a crime scene." Brown eyes watched Roy close the door behind him, reaching down to ruffle Hayate's ears. No doubt he followed the soft jingling of the dog's collar. "Is everything all right? You sound like you've seen a ghost."

" _I haven't seen any, but I think a couple might've been created_ ," the brunette fired back. Riza grimaced at the heat in her friend's tone; she should have remembered that Rebecca was _not_ a morning person. " _Going to Central to deal with soul-stealing megalomaniacal alchemically-powered freaks was bad enough, but I shouldn't have to come home to homicidal psychopaths!_ "

Tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder, Riza began shrugging out of her coat. Satisfied that the dog hadn't escaped the apartment, Roy started carefully across the floor toward her. "Rebecca, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

" _Your psycho serial killer came east, Blondie_."

She froze, both arms in the coat sleeves even as the garment dropped halfway down her back. Still five feet away, Roy caught her sudden silence and stopped in his tracks. Grey eyes flashed open as he listened, brows lowering in concern. She met that unseeing gaze, forcing herself to draw breath.

"How do you know it's —"

" _Throats ripped out and blood everywhere, that's how!_ " Rebecca was beginning to sound more angry than upset now. Riza finished shrugging out of her coat as her friend continued. " _Breda and Fuery told me enough that I can recognize when one murder looks similar to another. Does this sound like your guy, or doesn't it?_ "

"It depends," she allowed, draping her coat over the back of a kitchen chair. "What has the East City coroner said about it a cause of death?" She cut her friend off as she heard the intake of breath for a no doubt sarcastic reply. "And don't tell me the cause of death is obviously the throat. Just what the coroner said."

The prevented comeback came out in an impatient huff instead. " _He said it looked like an animal attack, but it would be the first one reported inside the city limits in over fifteen years. That surely somebody would have seen a creature this big before it had a chance to attack anybody, especially with how far from the city limits the attacks took place_."

She frowned. "Where _did_ the attacks take place?"

" _Two different wooded areas in Bradley Park. Looks like it was two homeless guys, one right after the other._ " Rebecca paused. " _Has he ever killed in two different locations in one night like this?_ "

Riza grimaced, leaning back against the table. "It's suspected he did two nights ago. A man and a woman; one was the crime scene you told us about at the hospital; the other was found near a bridge by the river. That's where we just came from." Taking a deep breath, she ran a hand back through her hair. "I'll talk to the Colonel; see what we can figure out. I'll get back to you soon. You're at Headquarters?"

" _Yeah. I'll stay put until I hear from you._ " She hesitated, the anger gone. " _And, Riza? Whatever you end up doing… be careful, okay?_ "

"Of course," she said, as reassuringly as she could manage. "Same goes for you. I'll be in touch."

The instant Roy heard the receiver click into the cradle, he folded his arms. "Sounds like we'll need those travel permits signed off on as soon as possible." Sightless eyes drifted in the direction of the telephone. "Things are heating up at home now, too?"

"From the sound of it." Taking a deep, calming breath, she stood straight. "But this is going to push the Ishval trip back even more. Scar and Miles aren't going to like it."

"I think they'll understand." He grinned, the expression still lop-sided and boyish, but lacking most of its usual good humour. "I mean, who better to know that serial killers should be stopped than a former serial killer?"

He stepped closer, finding her arm and using it to tug her closer. The grin faded to a soft smile. "And besides…. We needed to head that way sooner or later. Even if chasing this guy turns out to be a completely dead end, no pun intended…." He reached up to tap the outside corner of one eye. "… Then I think we can find a way to make sure the trip isn't a waste."


	9. End of Darkness

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Just as a heads up, next week's chapter may be delayed by as much as a day or two; I'll still do everything I can to update as close to on time as possible. Chapter warnings this week are for nightmares and language._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Nine - End of Darkness**

TRAIN FROM CENTRAL CITY TO EAST CITY

0323 HOURS, APRIL 16

The landscape rolled by in darkness, illuminated only by stars and a crescent moon. Riza was grateful that Hayate had finally calmed down, his paws no longer propped against the windowsill as he tried to see anything and everything flashing by in the night. He was curled on the seat beside her, his muzzle laid delicately over his paws and nose twitching as he slept.

Across from her, Roy sat with one leg crossed over the opposite knee, relaxed in his seat. His arms were folded over his chest, his head bent and eyes closed. Mercifully asleep in the otherwise nearly empty car.

Riza smiled fondly, watching him. He seemed as though he could wake at the slightest provocation — and with his hearing enhanced by his loss of sight, that probably wasn't far off the mark — and begin barking rebukes at whatever soldier was unfortunate enough to have disturbed him. He wore that small frown that was so common when he was concentrating on something, furrowing a line between his brows.

She stirred, feeling a pleasurable weariness in her limbs that was the residual note of a hectic, hurried, last-minute tumble before they had left for the station and their overnight train eastward. Her smile grew at the memory, hearing again his panting breath beside her ear, feeling the slip of her fingers against sweat-slick skin….

Breathing out slowly, she leaned her head against the padded back of her seat, reaching over to scratch affectionately behind her dog's ears. Thanks to his size and the relative emptiness of the train, she hadn't had much trouble convincing the conductor to allow him into the passenger car, instead of cargo. Roy had made a joking comment about claiming him as a seeing-eye dog, but even that little ruse hadn't been necessary.

She let her eyes fall closed. Up until now, she had felt too wired to sleep, given the early morning crime scene, the news of the killings out East, the day spent scrambling for whatever travel permits and paperwork they would need to bring with them… and that last forty-five minutes before they'd had to rush out the door for the train….

Almost without realizing it, her eyes opened again, and she looked out the window. The car was dimmed to allow passengers to sleep, but she still couldn't see much past the reflection in the window. Somewhere on this train — likely lurking in a cargo car like the fugitive he was — was Scar. Miles had already gone ahead and would meet him for the last leg of the journey into Ishval, where they would go once their investigation was over. The investigation into that man….

 _No._ She pushed the thought firmly away, resettling herself in the seat. She would not think about that bizarre encounter when she should be sleeping. When she should have been sleeping hours ago. With only two hours left until they reached East City, she needed all the rest she could get.

Closing her eyes again, she breathed deep and let it out slowly, her thoughts wandering past East City and further south, toward Resembool. She remembered that large, rambling house at the end of the dirt path, rising out of the hills surrounding the town. It had been nearly five years, but the image was still fixed clearly in her mind. To think that the children that lived there would have proven themselves to be so strong….

 _But not as strong as you._

Her eyes snapped open again to find Roy sitting forward, his elbows braced on his knees and his fingers laced together. Those dark eyes stared at her with an intensity she knew all too well, glinting with dark, bedroom mischief. Riza felt her mouth drop open in unaffected surprise.

"Roy… your eyes…."

He grinned. "The better to see you with."

Moving forward, he braced himself against the back of her seat with one hand either side of her head, not stopping until his lips grazed the soft skin behind her ear. Riza smiled, glancing to her right at the other seats in view. "Not that I'm complaining," she said quietly, "but you're awfully bold for someone in a semi-public place."

"No more so than I ever was."

Her gaze snapped back to the face in front of hers… and she immediately tried to scramble to the side. The stranger caught her by the shoulders, his long-fingered grasp holding her in place with nearly bruising force. That strange water-ripple was even harder to see past up close, and Riza felt her eyes struggle with the sheer weirdness of it. She must have misread it in the gloom and her own tiredness, mistaking it for Roy's face with his eyesight returned.

"How did you —"

"Find you?" He grinned, showing teeth that — were those fangs?! — glinted in the dim light of the car. "Very easy. You have a certain scent to you, Lieutenant, one that's practically magnetic. It has rather a strong draw…."

He trailed off, eyes raking over her in a look that was nothing short of lascivious in its intent. Gooseflesh prickled over every inch of her skin at the thought that his lips had once again been pressed to her neck, over that thin, still-healing scar. She gritted her teeth, raising both hands to plant them against his shoulders.

"Enough," she bit out. "Get —"

The distorting ripple over his face was gone, revealing the age lines and crow's feet at the corners of the eyes. One green, one marked with a symbol in blood red glared at her under lowered brows. The moustache covered the span of skin between nose and frowning mouth, running perfectly trimmed along the line of the upper lip. Riza felt her mouth go dry as King Bradley stared at her from mere inches away.

"By all means, Lieutenant," he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "Continue on with what you were going to say. Get what?"

 _Shut up,_ she told herself firmly. _Don't you_ dare _say a word. He'll kill you the instant you do, you know he will. Don't provoke him…._

"Get the hell away from me," she all but whispered, unable to heed her own advice. "You're dead. You can't be here. I —"

"Dead?" A bitter smile shifted the lines in his face, one hand reaching to the small of his back, no doubt after one of those famous swords. "Me? Don't be ridiculous, Lieutenant, the king doesn't die, he merely enters checkmate. A simple change in state, not one so grievous as death. And while your precious Colonel may think you a queen to his king –"

She heard the rasp of steel leaving a scabbard, and closed her eyes in grieved resignation. "– he fails to realize that 'thinking' and 'being' are two very different things."

There was a pause, but the stab of the blade didn't come. Riza waited, her heart in her throat, wondering how this had ever happened. Why wasn't Hayate awake and barking at this threat to his mistress? Why hadn't Roy woken, demanding she tell him what was going on? How had Bradley survived? How had the strange man gotten on board? Perhaps Bradley _was_ the strange man?

"So many questions."

Even before her eyes flew open, she recognized the voice. On seeing that familiar smirk, the light reflecting off the glasses in that familiar fashion, even the way he lounged in the seat beside his still-sleeping best friend with his gaze on a photo of his daughter… Riza nearly screamed.

Hughes looked up, one eyebrow lifted questioningly. "Feels like there's something you want to say, Hawkeye," he said mildly. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

This last appearance triggered a memory: tracking Roy through the tunnels underneath Central, her finger on the trigger of her gun and ready to shoot anything that moved. She hadn't seen it for herself, but he had told her about one trick in particular that had been played on him, and a very cruel one at that.

"Envy?"

The wide grin that spread across Hughes' face was lacking all the warmth and mischief its true owner had always given it. Full of a gleeful malice, it showed pointed teeth. The image wavered, and the sight of Hughes — now getting to his feet — seemed to melt into the lanky, long-haired Homonculus.

"Should've known you'd latch onto this idea sooner or later," it commented, still smirking. "Been a while, Lieutenant; did you miss me?"

"Like a toothache." There was a gun holstered against her left side, riding comfortably under her arm, but Riza knew there was no way she could pull it and fire in the time it would take this monster to reach her and snap her neck. Not that a single shot would do much good against this… aberration. "Although the last time I saw you, you seemed sick. You were looking a little green."

The Homonculus's smile dropped into a scowl, and it edged forward another step. "You listen to me, you little insect," it growled warningly. "You're going to forget you ever saw that. It never happened, understand?"

" _You_ listen to _me_ ," she snapped. Rising to her feet, standing nose-to-nose with the thing, Riza kept her voice low but filled with deadly promise. "I don't know how you managed to hold on to whatever you call a life, or why you've started following me around, but I'm done. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't wake him —" She cut her eyes briefly toward Roy, and then back again. "—and let him do to you what he wanted to in those tunnels."

Violet eyes regarded her seriously for a moment, before Envy stepped away and to the side. "I think you're confused, Lieutenant. I'm not who you think I am."

"Explain," she bit out.

Envy grinned. "You've never been able to just let things go, have you. You see a mysterious stranger with pale skin and dark hair, but you can't tell what his face looks like… so you start picturing everyone you know or knew with those traits." The image of the Homonculus started to cycle, changing heights, hairstyles, eye colour, body type with stomach-churning accuracy and speed. Voices spoke in the tones of their owners.

"Mustang."

"Bradley."

"Hughes."

"Envy."

A new face - female, short dark hair, with large dark eyes and a tiny mole under the left one. She smiled. "Ross." A second shift, to another female, her dark hair pulled into a high bun at the back of her head, her left arm missing and the bandages wrapping around her torso. She lifted her face, dotted with pain-induced sweat, to look solemnly at Riza. Her voice was soft and husky. "Lan Fan." Shift. Male this time, tall but the shoulders slightly stooped with age. Smoke curled across old-fashioned glasses, the eyes behind them haunted from Ishval and as sad as a bloodhound's. The cigarette between his lips wiggled as he said, "Knox."

Riza swallowed convulsively as white doctor's scrubs morphed into a sophisticated white suit, the cigarette disappearing in a puff of smoke that changed to a hat perched on long, black hair gathered into a sleek ponytail. He raised a hand, tugging the hat's brim suavely in her direction. "Kimblee."

The elastic holding the hair in its tail burst, the strands becoming thicker, curling into a familiar mass of curly, dark brown hair. The clothes and form changed until those mischievous, fun-loving dark eyes smiled at her. Two fingers gave her a mock salute in time with a cheeky wink. "Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina."

The worst shift came last. Before her eyes, the lips of her best friend darkened and became more full. The hair rippled and grew longer, the military-style clothes changed to a form-hugging, daring black dress. That too-familiar mark painted itself in the centre of her chest, and the two fingers that had playfully saluted lengthened, their sharp points coming to rest under Riza's chin. A dangerous smile spread, that same one that had told her of two dead human sacrifices….

"Lust."

Riza slammed awake, bolting forward with one hand to her throat, her mouth open as she struggled for a deep enough breath. Adrenaline flooded her system, wanting her to fight the apparition that was no longer there. Finally, gasping audibly, she inhaled.

Beside and behind her, Hayate whined, pawing gently at her lower back. He wiggled forward, shoving his head through the gap between her arm and her side; he knew when his mistress needed comfort, knew that he was the key to that. He whined again, pressing his cold, wet nose against the opposite arm for her attention.

Unfortunately, the combined sounds of her panicked breath and the dog brought Roy snapping awake. Greyed-out eyes locked on her direction, his body tense and stock-still as he listened. "…What happened?"

She swallowed, breathing deeply a second time before she could speak. "Nightmare…." Leaning back in the seat, she touched one hand to her dog's head, trying to ignore the shaking in her fingers as she stroked the soft fur. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

His eyes were still on her, his posture unchanged. Evaluating. "If you did, it must have been a bad one." When she didn't reply, he got carefully to his feet, moving across to settle again beside her, his arm around her shoulders. "Talk to me. What was it?"

Riza shook her head slowly, beginning to breathe more normally now that the fear was ebbing. "I… don't know. I can't explain it. Just… a rush of faces, maybe a dozen or so? Some of them… some of them weren't even alive anymore, but I somehow thought… it was real."

"Nightmares are like that," he allowed. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Best just to tell yourself it was only a dream and try to go back to sleep."

Looking toward the window, she shook her head again. "Not much point," she said quietly. "We're nearly there."

The first rays of sun were just beginning to show over the horizon, the sun visible as the barest edge of light in a pink sky. The first buildings of East City's outskirts were visible, drawing slowly nearer as the train progressed, everything silent and still in the early morning. The dream had lasted, by her reckoning, just shy of two hours. A new feeling, a comforting one, began to settle over her as the last dregs of the dream faded.

It felt like coming home.

* * *

EASTERN HEADQUARTERS FIRING RANGE

0926 HOURS, APRIL 16

Despite knowing that he would feel nothing, Havoc still winced as the footrest of the wheelchair collided with the swinging doors to the long, low building that housed the range's offices and storage. Thankfully, the tips of his shoes were already slid back half an inch from the edge.

"Would you slow down?" He gritted his teeth, hands clenched into white-knuckle grips around the arms of the chair. "You're going to kill us both, the way you're going!"

"That blond freak on the Promised Day didn't kill you, and neither will my steering," Rebecca shot back, maneuvering the chair around a corner. The wheels squealed in protest on the tiled floor, but the chair completed the turn safely nonetheless. Ahead down a short hallway was another set of swinging doors, and a familiar figure.

Riza stood to one side of the hallway, a folded copy of the Eastern Times in her hands and her eyes staring blankly at the floor, lost in thought. She twitched at the sound of the wheelchair, looking up sharply before visibly relaxing with a small smile. "Ah. You're right on time."

Havoc wasn't quite over his surprise yet. "Lieutenant? What are you — when did you —" His brain caught up to events, like train cars knocking into each other as they come to a halt. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait a minute, if you're here, then the Colonel…?"

Hawkeye nodded toward the closed doors. "Waiting inside." She looked past him to her friend. "Go ahead and take him in; they should be just about ready."

"Sure." Starting forward again, more slowly this time, Rebecca reached out to give her friend's arm a reassuring squeeze in passing. "I'll come back and wait with you while it's going on. No girls allowed, huh?"

The room beyond was dimly lit. It had been a long time since Havoc had had cause to be back in this particular part of the range building; since he'd first been stationed in East City, in fact. The open space was empty, the floor made of unadorned poured concrete. Ahead, in a pool of light in the centre of the room, were a hospital gurney, two chairs, and a pair of men.

The older man looked up at the wheelchair's approach, smiling from a face that looked as though he'd fallen head-first into live coals. "Second Lieutenant Havoc, I presume?" He got to his feet, moving to extend a hand. "A pleasure to meet you; I've heard nothing but good things."

"Uh… thank you. Though I'm not a Second Lieutenant anymore, sir." Feeling more than a little off-balance, Havoc shook hands with the stranger. "I can't say I know you, Mr.…?"

"Dr. Tim Marcoh." The smile took on an unmistakable sense of mischief. "And you may be a private citizen now… but I'm willing to bet you'll be back in uniform sooner than you think, young man." Clapping Havoc on the shoulder, he turned away toward the gurney, addressing the room's other occupant. "I'll just need a few minutes to make sure everything is ready."

"Of course; take your time." Sitting relaxed in his chair, his arms folded and eyes closed, Roy turned his head in the direction of his former subordinate. "Long time, no see, Havoc."

Rebecca only half-successfully smothered a laugh, turning it into a quiet snort. "If that's the kind of humour you're reduced to, Colonel, I'll make my escape while I still can." She grasped Havoc's shoulders, squeezing once in reassurance, before quickly tousling his hair as she turned toward the door. "I'll be right outside with Riza if you need anything."

Havoc waited until he heard the door shut behind her before he spoke, his voice low. "…Boss, what's going on? I know you get off on this cloak and dagger stuff, but for the general population, it's pretty irritating." His gaze cut toward Marcoh, busy with several pieces of paper spread on the gurney, and lowered his voice even farther. "Wasn't this Marcoh guy wanted by the military at one point?"

"A while ago, yes. Circumstances have changed." Eyes still closed, Roy paused a moment, then said, "Havoc, how long have you been in that chair?"

The question took him aback. Nobody asked about the chair, ever. If anything, people tended to tiptoe around the subject, not wanting to draw attention to it. "…The chair itself, about three months," he answered cautiously. "Why do you ask?"

Roy ignored the return question. "And you've been without the use of your legs for, what, seven? Eight months?"

"About that, yeah." Annoyance was beginning to flare in his chest, and Havoc rolled the chair closer. "What are you getting at? Why did you have Rebecca drag me down here? Just to stick me in a spooky room and ask me a bunch of weird questions while a former wanted fugitive hangs around?" His laugh was humourless. "If that was your endgame, Boss, the least you could do is look at me."

The moment Roy did, Havoc regretted the comment.

"… Boss, what…." The words stuck in his throat out of sheer surprise, and he had to swallow to force them free. "Shit, Boss, what happened to your eyes?"

A small humourless smile tugged at one side of Roy's mouth. "They were short one alchemist on the Promised Day that had opened the Portal of Truth, so they decided to make one." He waved one hand toward his eyes. "The result isn't quite as catastrophic as if I'd done it voluntarily and on my own, but still bad."

Wheeling the chair forward by hand, feeling apprehensive, Havoc leaned forward to get a better look. "…Can you keep working like this? Don't you kind of need to see?"

The smile grew, gaining back its usual confidence. "That's why we're here."

"And I'm ready." Havoc looked back over his shoulder to find Marcoh waiting beside the gurney. The older man smiled, sending the deep wrinkles in his face into even deeper shadow. "Havoc, I believe the Colonel indicated you'd be going first."

"I – _what_?!" His head whipped back around to stare at those grey eyes and the broad smile. "Boss, you don't think this guy can –"

"I have every confidence he can," Roy said quietly, firmly. "Dr. Marcoh was one of the primary researchers on the Philosopher's Stone, so if anyone knows how to use it effectively, it's him." He tilted his chin toward the doctor. "Go on, Havoc. You've waited long enough."

"I –" He glanced again between the two men, the motion turning into a head shake as it began to sink in just why he'd been brought. "Boss, are you sure about this? This… doesn't this break some alchemists' taboo or something?"

"Oh, probably." Roy shrugged airily. "But then again, you were paralyzed by an unholy alchemical creation which was undoubtedly the result of breaking alchemic taboos, so what's one more? And besides –" His expression turned grim. "There are people imprisoned inside that Stone. The only way to free them is to use it up."

He hesitated only a moment longer, before turning the chair toward Marcoh. "I hope you know what you're doing, Doc. If it goes wrong, promise me I'll get one last chance to slug the Colonel for making me do this?"

Still smiling, Maroch drew up a stool from its place tucked away under the gurney. "You'll be fine. Stay in the wheelchair; your leg muscles will have begun to atrophy and you won't be able to walk right away. You won't walk out of here, but I guarantee you'll have feeling again."

—-

The room descended into quiet, broken by murmured comments from Marcoh as he worked at setting up the transmutation that would either make - or break - Havoc's future and his own. Roy was careful to keep himself as still as he could, both to avoid making Havoc even more uneasy, and to keep from worsening the nervous fluttering in his own stomach. What he wouldn't give to have Riza here, in the room, to grip his hand and murmur assurances… but they needed a guard, and she needed plausible deniability. Havoc was right; using a Stone after the events of Promised Day and before they immersed themselves in Ishvalan culture was not likely to be received favourably.

The familiar whine-crackle of a transmutation broke him out of his thoughts. He listened intently, trying to gauge how Havoc was responding. Only silence sounded from under the noise of alchemy… for the first seven seconds.

It started as a low, distressed hum, a noise of pure discomfort more common to doctors' offices or dentists' chairs. But in the space of a few seconds more, it escalated dramatically into a howl. Roy gritted his teeth, knowing he was powerless to help, to alleviate the pain, and that he would have had to refrain even if it were possible.

From inside his mind, Edward's voice spoke. _There's no such thing as a painless lesson._

As abruptly as it had begun, the whine-crackle faded away, but Havoc's anguished cry was longer in dying off. When it did, it devolved into ragged breathing and gasped curse words, overlaid with Marcoh's quiet assurances and instructions.

Getting carefully to his feet, Roy moved forward, following the sounds. When he judged himself close enough, he reached out, groping blindly until he touched Havoc's shoulder. "Steady," he murmured, moving in front of the wheelchair. "Steady, Havoc. It's over."

"Easy for you to say," the other man panted. "Feels like… my legs have been dead asleep…got pins and needles everywhere."

"That's good. That's feeling." Moving to a crouch, he located Havoc's left shoe by touch. "Go ahead…. Give it a shot."

For long seconds, nothing happened. The leather under Roy's hand remained cold and motionless. The sound of Havoc's breathing disappeared as the air caught in his chest… and without warning, inside the shoe, Roy felt movement. It wasn't much, no more than a slight wiggle of toes, but it was _movement_.

He grinned. "I believe that's what normal doctors call a miraculous recovery."

"…I felt it." Havoc's voice shook, muffled behind what was likely his hand. Roy's smile dimmed slightly, but didn't disappear, even though emotion choked the former Second Lieutenant's voice. "Holy shit, Boss, I… I _felt_ it. I _felt_ them move."

Reaching up, Roy squeezed the other man's knee – gently, of course – in reassurance. "We'll have you back on your feet before you know it," he promised, standing carefully.

"Your physical rehabilitation will take time," Marcoh interrupted, sounding professional and serious, "but in the end, I estimate you'll regain 97% of your former strength and use of your legs."

Havoc's voice seemed to move from side to side as he muttered another string of soft, shocked curses to himself, and Roy came to the conclusion that the blond man was slowly shaking his head as he spoke. He was just about to comment when Marcoh's hand gently grasped his arm.

"Your turn, Colonel. I'm not as young as I used to be and this takes a toll on me too, so it's best to just get through it. Onto the gurney, please."

A moment later, lying flat with Marcoh standing directly behind his head, Roy forced himself to take one last, deep breath. "Whenever you're ready," he said. "See you on the other side… literally."

He was never sure if Marcoh chuckled at the pun, because in the next instant, the darkness behind his eyes erupted in fire. It was invisible, the flames curling and licking around the circumference of his eyeballs, worming their way inside. Roy felt his teeth clench, felt his fingers curl around the gurney's frame, felt his spine go as rigid and unyielding as steel.

Pain and panic duelled in his chest, rising upward in his throat. It choked him, wanting to be expelled in a scream, wanting to form the words 'it burns'…. But he held it back.

He was burning, yes, but he had burned before. Havoc had burned. Riza had burned worse than either of them, and she hadn't screamed. She had had the strength to hold in the pain… and now he would do the same. She was outside the door, no doubt listening, and for her sake – to spare her the pain it would bring her to know he was hurting – he would hold it back.

And in an instant, it was gone.

He gasped in air, sounding for all the world like a drowning man finally getting a lungful of air. His spine relaxed, dropping him bonelessly back against the gurney as his own laboured breathing filled his ears. Marcoh's weathered hands patted his shoulders, with quiet instructions to breathe and relax.

Roy consciously unclenched his jaw, feeling the muscles and teeth ache in unison. His eyes ached, but he kept them closed. "Marcoh?" His voice came out hoarsely, the muscles not fully recovered yet. "Call them in."

Footsteps receded across the floor, covered by Havoc's quiet "How you doing, Chief?"

"We'll know in a minute."

The door opened, Marcoh's words not quite intelligible between the distance and the low volume of his voice. Footsteps approached once again as the door swung shut, three sets this time. Roy wet his lips in halfway anxious anticipation, listening and waiting.

"So, how was it?" Rebecca's tone was meant to be light, but he could pick out the faint undercurrent of concern. "Do you get a lollipop for cooperating with the doctor like a good boy?"

"I'd rather have a drink," Havoc shot back. "All I really feel right now is pins and needles, and that really awful feeling when your foot has been totally numb and starts to wake up. You know, where you try not to move it because when you do, it kind of steals your breath a little?" The grin in his next words sounded shaky, but it was there. "But like the Colonel said, it's feeling."

There was a sound of some kind of impact that Roy assumed must be Rebecca engulfing Havoc in a hug. He didn't have much time to dwell on it before cool, slender fingers rested on his arm.

"Speaking of the Colonel," Riza put in, "how did things go?"

He was aware that he was holding his breath, that something hovering between nervousness and panic was shivering madly in the centre of his torso. He wanted to see her, _needed_ to see her… but if he opened his eyes and it hadn't worked….

Her voice was soft, curious. "…Sir?"

Feeling somewhat detached, he forced himself to draw breath, beginning to notice for the first time that the darkness he had been suspended in for two weeks… now held a tone of faint pinkish-red. That hadn't been there before, had it? He didn't think so. That was a phenomenon reserved for when one faced a lit lamp… with their eyes closed.

The feeling of his eyelids rising came as though from a great distance, as though it were happening to someone else. A yellow glow cascaded from the light over the gurney, the bulb itself blocked by a hazy, haloed shape. Roy blinked, trying to bring the image into focus. He could feel the muscles contracting, setting off fresh aches and forcing him to squint.

Riza leaned over him, watching intently. The blurred vision caused her blonde eyebrows to seemingly blend into her face, but he could tell she was frowning in concern. Despite the fuzziness, he had no trouble meeting those brown eyes, feeling the near-magnetic pull they always exerted over him.

He saw the sudden rise in her shoulders as she tensed, realizing that for the first time in days, she wasn't just seeing him, that he was seeing her. Lips parted as though she were about to speak… and compressed into a thin line as words failed her. Roy was about to try to break the silence when the first of two warm tears splashed onto his cheek.

"Whoa, hey." He reached up with both hands, gently tracing a thumb under her eyes, wiping away the moisture there. "Don't start crying on me, Lieutenant." His grin was lopsided, reassuring. "You know I'm useless in the rain."


	10. Escalating Concerns

_A/N: Happy… well, Monday, everyone. Sorry for the delay; apparently getting married makes you crazy amounts of tired. So please belatedly enjoy this chapter!_

 _I co not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten - Escalating Concerns**

EASTERN MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

1025 HOURS, APRIL 16

"What do you mean, 'he's already here?'" One hand holding the telephone to his ear, the other curled in a fist on top of his desk, Hakuro gritted his teeth, and forced the next word out of his mouth. "… _Sir_."

" _What I mean is that Colonel Mustang and his adjutant should have arrived in East City sometime early this morning, and that they are likely to pay you — as acting head of the garrison — a visit sometime today or tomorrow._ " Even over several hundred miles' worth of telephone cable, Grumman managed to sound smug and superior, at least to Hakuro's ear. " _They're in the middle of an active case that —_ "

"With all due respect, sir —" _And not much of that, really_. "— I can take care of any investigation in East City. Surely, the Colonel and his aide are still recovering from their wounds from the battle two weeks ago. They shouldn't be back on active duty, much less —"

" _If the doctors cleared them to work and travel, then I believe the doctors,_ " the old man said firmly. " _Furthermore, I trust the judgement of both Mustang and Hawkeye, and if they say they feel fit to work, then they are fit to work._ " His voice took on a hard edge. " _I say this not only as a senior officer that knows them both rather well, but as Führer-President. Do I make myself clear,_ General?"

The subtle emphasis on his rank was enough of a warning flag to bring Hakuro's temper back under firm control. "…Yes… sir." He almost said 'Your Excellency,' but couldn't quite force himself to do that much. "My apologies. Thank you for notifying me, and I'll expect the Colonel sometime soon."

" _Good. Whatever information and aid they need, see that they get it. I'll expect a progress report on this in a week_."

There was no goodbye, simply the click of the call being terminated. Hakuro replaced the receiver, and sat still behind his desk, working to keep a leash on his anger. Yes, it was loathsome to have to deal with Mustang, especially at the behest of an old fool like Grumman, but it was part of the job. As long as he stayed professional, he could muddle his way through this. Once he was out the other side, things would look better.

This semi-good feeling did not last more than five minutes, when his secretary tapped politely on the door and opened it to announce, "Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Hawkeye to see you, sir."

Jaw clenched into what he hoped was an approximation of a courteous smile, Hakuro got to his feet… and hesitated when the younger man stepped inside. Dark sunglasses obscured Mustang's eyes, his Lieutenant's right hand gently touching his left arm, clearly guiding him. A set of file folders were tucked under her left arm.

In a moment of pure shock, Hakuro forgot his dislike for the ambitious upstart, a slightly numbed thought of _That's right… he's been blinded…._ running through his mind.

Before he could recover his loathing, he came around the front of the desk and indicated one of the visitors' chairs in front of it. "Seat him here, Lieutenant."

It seemed Mustang had different ideas. Halfway across the floor, on some invisible cue to his Lieutenant, both of them stopped and came smartly attention. "I appreciate the concern, General. While Lieutenant Hawkeye is still occasionally needed to help me with more dimly lit rooms, my eyesight _is_ returning." His polite smile took on the kind of edge that generally meant there was some sort of private joke, but he didn't elaborate. "Aside from that, we're both working toward fully active duty as quickly as we can, hence why we're here."

A twinge of annoyance tried to manifest itself as a twitch in his cheek, but Hakuro forced it down under the overarching cover of his professional façade. "Of course. The Führer-President called my office this morning to tell me to expect you, and give me a brief overview of the case you're working." He couldn't quite bring himself to say Grumman's name, not after the old fox had pulled the rug out from under him during the lead-up to the Battle of Central. "That being said, I'd like to hear things from you yourself. At ease, both of you, and sit down."

The three of them settled around the desk, and Mustang began going through a paraphrased breakdown of the crimes being investigated in Central. The gory details that he glossed over were shown rather than told; Hawkeye wordlessly produced the appropriate crime scene photos with flawless timing, passing them to Hakuro across the desk.

He grimaced, feeling his breakfast shift uneasily in his stomach. He gave the photos a perfunctory glance but nothing more, listening until the end of Mustang's little narrative.

"And so, given the information from Second Lieutenant Catalina, you believe this killer came East somehow from Central?" He folded his hands on the desk blotter. "What's to say that the East City killings weren't done by a copycat?"

Lieutenant Hawkeye shifted minutely. "If I may, General, it's our opinion that it would take a seriously disturbed mind to kill in the way the Central City killer does. For there to be two such-minded individuals at the same time…." Her usually stoic features took on a hint of distaste. "Frankly, sir, it doesn't bear thinking about."

He couldn't argue with her there, and so nodded in acknowledgement. "I understand. I can even agree… to a certain extent. But I think we'll need some form of concrete proof before we can paint all these crimes with the same brush. Something aside from the murder method that's common to all scenes."

He was used to reading Mustang's moods and opinions in the younger man's dark eyes, and so the sudden tension in his shoulders meant nothing without further context. It could have been wariness, anger, interest, discomfort….. With those dark glasses on, he had succeeded in both masking whatever injury he had incurred as well as his deeper thoughts.

"With all due respect, General," he said, choosing his words carefully — ah, so the tension signalled wariness, "the only common link between the murders _is_ the method in which they were carried out. The victims all come from different backgrounds, no two look particularly similar, there's no social connection that we can see, the ages very from a child to middle age…." He shrugged expansively. "The only correlation is how they were killed."

Hakuro sat back in his chair, giving the two of them a pointed look. "Then I suppose you'd best figure out some other way they're all related, shouldn't you?" When neither of them answered, he continued. "I think I've heard enough. At the Führer-President's direction, you have free rein to investigate what you need to here in East City. Anything of pertinence will be reported to myself as well as him. Is that clear?"

There was a brief stiffening in Mustang's jaw that might have been him clenching his teeth… or merely swallowing a more blistering retort than the cool, quiet "Yes, sir," that he murmured instead.

"Good." He paused for a moment, then changed tack. "Now, I heard the two of you were injured during the Battle of Central, but I don't believe I know what exactly happened to you. If you're going to be trusted with this case, I'd like to know the extent of your injuries so that I can gauge how much you can handle."

This time, the tension came to Hawkeye's shoulders in time with the faintest sheen of indignance and anger in those usually calm brown eyes. Hakuro had overheard stories from others under his command what an absolute terror the slender sharpshooter could be when her temper was roused, but that didn't scare him.

The expression didn't falter as her gaze met his, though it didn't progress any farther. Mustang's head twitched minutely in his adjutant's direction, before he answered calmly. "As I said, my eyesight was temporarily put out of commission, but it's recovering, and I'm told I should regain full use of my eyes. Aside from a good amount of my back being scraped up by a fall, I'm entirely fine."

Hakuro hadn't taken his eyes from a still watching Hawkeye. "And you, Lieutenant? You're looking paler than I remember."

Her voice was quiet, but clear. "A man involved in the corrupt cabal against Führer-President Bradley attempted to kill me by cutting my throat," she said, her words deliberate. "Fortunately for me, he only nicked one part of my neck, but it was enough that I lost a fair amount of blood. I should fully recover all that I lost within in the next two weeks, but until then, it's nothing that should keep me from working."

For a moment, he sat silent, unsure of what to say in the face of this revelation. He knew what she really meant by 'corrupt cabal,' and had read reports from Major-General Armstrong and her brother as to what they had witnessed… making Hawkeye's subtle message all too clear. This deceptively passive woman would not be killed easily, nor would the usually cocky and smug man beside her.

"Would that every soldier in Amestris had the fortitude you've shown," he said, careful not to add ' _because then perhaps I could get rid of you two._ ' Instead, he shifted in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's go back to the question of this serial killer you've been chasing. While I can appreciate that you're both well enough to be in the field once more, I'm not sure why you wouldn't simply continue working the murders in Central while a team here in the East investigates whatever happened here. It could save you a lot of time and travel."

Mustang was already shaking his head. "That's true, but information never flows as smoothly between two cities so far apart. Not to mention that my team started with this case in Central, and to try and explain the particulars to another team here in East City would take more time than it's worth. We've left Breda and Fuery to follow up with things in Central, but Lieutenant Hawkeye and myself came here to learn what we could."

The logic was sound, but Hakuro had one more bid to make. "And this is the second time you've investigated serial killings, isn't it? The last was that scarred Ishvalan man that seemed so bent on taking out State Alchemists." He gave the younger man a pointed look. "I don't recall there being an arrest in that case."

Frustratingly, Mustang appeared unruffled. In fact, he _smiled_. "No arrest, no. But the man you're talking about attacked Führer-President Bradley during the Battle of Central, wounded him badly, but was subsequently killed."

"It's our belief," Hawkeye put in quietly, "that he was leading a band of Ishvalan refugees in actions against the Presidency that day. Major-General Armstrong took it upon herself to deal with the body."

Annoyed, Hakuro held back a resigned sigh. All the cards were on the table now, and his was the losing hand. "I see." He got to his feet, which prompted the others to do the same. "I won't hold you up any longer, since you have work to do. Make sure any reports you file come to me as well; someone as bloodthirsty and dangerous as this man shouldn't be on the streets."

"Our sentiments exactly," Mustang agreed. Both he and Hawkeye saluted dutifully, before moving toward the door. "Thank you for your time, General."

They were most of the way across the room before a sudden idea seized Hakuro. His hand drifted to the paperweight resting atop a stack of reports to his left. "Colonel — just one more thing…."

He waited just until that dark head had turned back in his direction, before plucking the paperweight from its resting place and lobbing it underhand toward the younger man. Mustang twitched visibly in surprise, before his left hand shot out to easily catch the glass dome sailing in his direction.

So, his vision was indeed returning, and with it went the faint, fleeting hope that he could have been run out of the military on a medical discharge. Hakuro forced a thin smile. "Just a test, Colonel, to assess just how on-the-mend you are. You passed admirably."

The answering smile was just as thin, without a trace of humour. "Your concern for my welfare is touching, General." He set the paperweight on top of the filing cabinet next to the door. "We'll be in touch."

The already small smile had faded before the door closed behind them.

* * *

STREETS OF EAST CITY

1100 HOURS, APRIL 16

He watched her as she drove, her eyes never leaving the road but to flicker briefly toward the sidewalk or the other lane. Riza's eyebrows were drawn tight, her anger apparent in the set of her jaw and the light in her eyes, in the way her right thumb tapped distractedly on the steering wheel. The car, signed out from the East City motor pool, was otherwise silent.

Finally, he faced forward again, commenting mildly. "You know, driving angry might not be the best idea, but at least when you do it, you look good."

She didn't so much laugh as give a short, slightly humoured outward breath. "That's a very roundabout way of telling me I'm pretty when I'm angry, sir."

"Serves the purpose, though." The car slowed, then stopped at a red light, and he reached over to settle a hand on her knee. "The meeting didn't go _that_ badly, did it? I thought that, given Hakuro's opinion of me, it would've been a lot worse."

Riza didn't take her eyes from the light, or her hands from the wheel. "Yes, I think the fact that we're both still very obviously recovering threw him off-balance. He only questioned our fitness to investigate and be in the field, instead of our ability to do our jobs in general."

He shrugged, taking back his hand as the light changed and the car started forward again. "Exactly. And if he hadn't tried to test me at the end, I would have counted it as some sort of progress."

"That's most of what's getting under my skin," she answered, the words suddenly clipped by annoyance. "He just had to push it that little bit further, couldn't just take our word that we're really on the mend…. The questioning, I can handle. That's part of the job; you and I have both done it before. But the casual, off-the-cuff test…. It insinuates he thinks we were lying to achieve our own ends." She paused a moment. "Which, yes, we've both done before, but that doesn't have much bearing on this. Frankly, that so-called 'test' was nothing short of insulting."

"Well, then, best we prove him wrong. Which we've both done before." They began to slow for another red light, and he took the opportunity to slide closer on the bench seat, reaching for his pocket. "In the meantime, we'd best go to ground, get ourselves oriented, and figure out where to proceed from here. And I have just the place; I already left the number with Headquarters."

The car stopped, and she glanced sideways at him. His eyes were still hidden by the dark glasses, but she could sense the mischief lurking there. "You have a place in mind, when we haven't been in the city for months?'

He held up a pair of keys on a metal ring, grinning. "You know, I think I do…."

* * *

STREETS OF EAST CITY

11:00 A.M., APRIL 16

The man paced along, hands in the pockets of his dark suit, the brim of his hat tugged low and his head ducked to hide his face from any observant passersby. He was more recognizable here, but the danger of being seen did not overly disturb him. He could deal with anyone that realized who he was.

What disturbed him was that he had watched Mustang and Hawkeye emerge from the front entrance of Eastern Headquarters, not saying much, and head toward the motor pool. In Central, Mustang had kept one hand on his adjutant's shoulder or arm at all times, needing her to guide his blind steps. Now, he walked under his own power, hands at his sides, moving gently as he walked. The conclusion was obvious.

He could see again.

The man tried to tell himself that it didn't matter. Just because that arrogant fool could see again didn't mean anything for him; he had his own defenses in place, at least during the night. He took the risk of looking up, to where a perfectly blue spring sky stretched overhead, broken only by rare, wispy clouds. It was an effort, to hide his face in the daylight, as he had with Hawkeye at the cemetery. He had to be careful not to waste his energy like that, to conserve it for the proper time.

Perhaps he ought to find out where they were operating out of while here in the East, and try to get a glance at whatever notes they had. Simply to make sure they weren't getting too close to him yet, and to check on Hawkeye's progress. She would be ready soon, and then….

He licked his lips, ducking his head once more. The taste of her rose like a ghost in his mouth, a memory of the blood, of the faint smoky aftertaste that lingered on the tongue. He was surprised – pleasantly so – to find that dwelling on these thoughts of her caused the hunger to swell. Much as an ordinary human might hear their stomach rumble as the scents of a meal, the man heard a snarling in his mind, like a ravening wolf.

He hadn't thought he would need to eat again so soon; then again, the two hobos had not been as filling as he might have liked. Theoretically, he could wait until after nightfall, but to take a new victim in broad daylight like this…. The thrill it would give him would be immeasurable.

Walking leisurely, he made his way out of the bustling commercial area into a less-populated residential district. Here, there were the sounds of small children playing in backyards, the occasional bark of a dog, the far off purr of a car engine. Laundry flapped on lines behind houses, a telephone rang in the interior of one on a corner.

The man turned down streets at random, looking for all the world like an ordinary gentleman out for a midday stroll. When he came to a corner shaded by an old, drooping oak tree, he paused in the shade cast by the wide boughs, and listened.

The nearest house had left a window open to admit the fresh spring air, and radio music floated out into the sunshine. His ears picked out a woman's soft humming blending with the music, and the soft _sssssswick… sssssswick… sssssswick_ of a broom moving across a hardwood floor. No other sounds emanated from inside; it would do.

Approaching the front door, he knocked, taking a moment to straighten his tie and smooth the fabric of his suit jacket. The woman who answered was plump and pretty, light brown hair falling in curls to her shoulders and held back with a brightly patterned kerchief. She wiped her hands on her pale green apron, smiling politely at the stranger on her front steps.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

The man returned her smile with some well-feigned surprise, reaching up to pluck his hat from his head. "…I'm terribly sorry… I must have the wrong address. I was supposed to meet a realtor about buying a house in the neighbourhood, and he told me to come to 187 Plum Street for a viewing."

Now looking puzzled, though still with a plastic version of her former smile pasted to her face, the woman hesitated before saying, "Well, _this_ is 187 Plum Street, but the house isn't for sale. In fact, I don't know of any houses on our street that are…. Perhaps it was a different street that sounds similar?"

"That's what I'm beginning to wonder…." He looked around the deserted avenue, allegedly perplexed but actually checking for witnesses. Not a soul moved in the pristine front yards of the neighbourhoods, or twitched aside curtains in neighbourly nosiness. He looked back to the woman. "I'm rather embarrassed. I hate to impose, but… if you have a telephone, would I be able to use it to call the realty firm and get the correct address? I'm sure it wouldn't take more than a minute."

Again the woman hesitated, twisting the hem of her apron between her fingers in uncertainty. Her gaze travelled over him briefly, evaluating. He stood with his hat pressed to his chest, his free hand clearly visible at his side. Apparently seeing nothing suspicious, she stepped to the side and held the door open. "I don't see why not. Please, come in."

Her home was neat and orderly, with all the earmarks of being attended to by a stay-at-home wife with no children in the picture. Not only was there no evidence of toy boxes or child-size shoes, but the house held only adult scents. Children had a tendency to smell of things like storybook paper, crayon wax, and cookies and milk. Like the little Jamieson boy.

He followed the woman to the bright, warm kitchen, where she gestured toward the far wall. "Telephone's over there, sir. Take all the time you need, if it's a local call."

"It is, thank you." Moving toward the device, he pulled out his wallet, looking through it as though for a business card. "You have a lovely home, Ms.…?"

"Angelini. Joanna Angelini." She smiled, turning toward a soup pot that was on the stove, steam curling from the top of it. "And thank you; my husband and I are quite happy with it." Picking up a wooden spoon, she poked it into the pot, stirring the contents as she peered at them through the steam. "I don't believe you told me your name, sir."

"You're right. I didn't."

The way he struck against her caused her to drop the spoon into the soup with a clack. Joanna herself was thrown first against the stove, knocking half the breath from her before she was dragged backward and down. The man twisted as she fell, causing her to land face-first on her kitchen floor.

Surprised, the woman didn't have time for much more than a ragged gasp before his weight descended on her shoulders. The man's teeth sank into the soft flesh of the side of her throat, a low, pleased growl sounding as blood began to seep into his mouth. Her breath still returning, Joanna couldn't manage more than a hoarse whimper. Her legs kicked helplessly, one shoe clattering noisily against the stove.

He could hear her starting to regain her breath, and clamped one hand firmly over her mouth, pulling her head back so he could better access her neck. Joanna whimpered again, but fainter this time. The blood flowed more easily, some spattering to the immaculate tiled floor.

She continued to try and struggle, but the man's strength held her easily in place. Unconcernedly, almost casually, he kept a steady pace, alternately sucking and swallowing, feeling the life-giving blood ooze down his throat. It didn't so much slake a thirst as fill his stomach and ease the hungry rumblings there. Gradually, Joanna Angelini's struggles grew weaker and weaker… until at last she slumped in slow motion to the floor and was still.

A hoarse voice croaked from the kitchen doorway. "Joanna?"

Freeing his teeth from the woman's neck, the man lifted his head and turned. A man stood staring in horror, wrapped in a bathrobe thrown on over pajamas, his hair in pillowed disarray and his eyeglasses sitting crooked on his nose. The eyes behind them were glassy with fever and staring in uncomprehending shock at the man crouched over the lifeless body on the floor.

"What…." He halted, swallowing against the congested rasping in his throat. "What did you do to my wife?"

Getting slowly to his feet, much as though he were trying not to spook a skittish animal, the man ran his tongue over the blood coating his lips. Far from containing it, all the gesture did was spread it around. "I would think it's fairly obvious," he said, voice low. "She was good enough to invite me in, though I'm afraid I may have overstepped her hospitality in taking food without asking."

The husband's wide eyes went from the man's bloody mouth to his still-bleeding wife on the floor. Blood was still draining from the punctures to her neck, forming a pool on the floor. "But — how…."

He was still staring, dumbstruck, when the man lunged. This time, he didn't bother to go for the other's throat. Instead, he struck him on one shoulder, spinning the unprepared victim around to the left. A second later, he caught Joanna's husband by the head in both hands and gave a sharp twist.

There was a sharp crack and Mr. Angelini dropped bonelessly to the floor, mere feet away from his late wife.

The man staggered, stumbling to the little kitchen island to support himself, bent nearly double. The violence had awakened that other hunger, that sexual need, and the force of its suddenness left him breathless. He braced himself on the cool tile counter, taking long, deep breaths, willing the throbbing in his groin to subside. Still, it was a long while before he was able to stand straight and breathe normally.

Stepping over Joanna's body to the stove, he plucked the dish towel hanging from the handle of the over door and using it to dab fastidiously at his lips and chin, removing all traces of blood. He hadn't gone quite as wild in this attack as the others, but then again, he also wasn't quite done.

Standing there, watching the pot on the stove continue to bubble placidly, he leaned forward to peer inside it. Rich broth, vegetables, and chunks of meat bobbed along with the rolling boil, sending a savoury fragrance into the air. The man smirked. _Of course: the dutiful wife making chicken soup for her sick husband. How disgustingly domestic._

And if the meat were diseased, he was hesitant to sink his teeth into it. The two hobos and their high blood alcohol levels had been bad enough, and the man respected this body too much to tarnish it unnecessarily with illness. He wasn't even sure what effect human germs would have on him, but he had no desire to find out.

Turning the heat off to the burner under the soup pot, he once again stepped over Joanna's body and then over that of her husband, making his way to the front door. He checked himself over to make sure there was no blood visible on him before stepping outside.

His hand was on the doorknob when a thought clicked into place. He hesitated a moment, an idea forming, then returned to the kitchen. He stepped over Mr. Angelini in crossing to the far wall and picked up the telephone receiver, dialling a single '0' before he brought it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, pouring panic into his voice when the operator had connected. "I need the police, quickly! There's blood, so much blood, and the Angelinis…. They're… they're…."

" _Sir, calm down. I'm connecting you to the military police,_ " the woman on the other end responded, her voice tense. " _What address are you calling from?_ "

"It's 187 Plum Street. Tell them to hurry!" And with that, he hung up and headed out the door.

"Thank you for your help, Mrs. Angelini. I'll let you know if I move to the neighbourhood," he called cheerfully back to the interior of the house and its dead occupants, purely for any unseen spectators. Shutting the door firmly behind him, he started off down the walk and up the street, his hat tugged low to keep his eyes hidden, and his head slightly ducked against any pedestrian he might pass. He had only walked two blocks before he began to hear sirens.

* * *

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

1217 HOURS, APRIL 16

The apartment was littered with taped-up boxes, open boxes, boxes waiting to be folded back into being boxes, and empty boxes waiting to be filled. Setting her military duffel on the floor and the paper bag of groceries on the counter in the kitchen, Riza's eyes roamed around the space. Hayate trotted inside past their feet and began exploring instantly, his nose to the floorboards.

"He _does_ intend to come back for all of this, doesn't he?" she asked, only half sarcastically. "I would have thought Grumman would prefer to take all his belongings to Central in one go and be done with it."

Roy's duffel hit the floor, knocking into a box of heavy-looking leather bound books. "He told me he would have liked to do it that way, but that there was a time crunch between being confirmed as the incoming Führer-President and getting to Central. He took the most important things and boxed up what he could before he left." He grinned at her, his eyes still hidden behind protective sunglasses. "He said that if the head of the country couldn't find a flunky or two to come back here and get the rest of his stuff, what was that country coming to?"

Riza smiled back, beginning to sort through the grocery bag for anything that needed to be refrigerated. "As long as I don't end up being one of said flunkies, I can't fault him for the logic."

She was facing away from Roy when his arms circled her waist in a gentle embrace, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. Shuddering lightly, she pulled away, but not by much. "Not now," she warned, smiling. "We've got things to do."

"You mean aside from each other?" The fingers of his right hand tugged at the hem of her uniform jacket, trailing the silver edging. "Can't say anything pressing is coming to mind, other than —"

He broke off as she turned in his arms, giving him an admonishing look. It was in strange juxtaposition to the spots of colour high in her cheeks that spoke to her own want. Want she was clearly holding back, with all the force and discipline only Riza Hawkeye was capable of.

"I know that it'll be the first time you've seen me that way in months," she murmured, tone firm, "but we've got new case files to go over for the two murders that happened here, we need to eat, we need to get in touch with our old contacts out here to see if they know anything —"

She stopped when it was apparent that he wasn't listening. Reaching up, she took the sunglasses from his face, revealing the reddened eyes. He looked as though he were going through a particularly nasty bout of seasonal allergies: the eyelids were red and slightly puffy, the whites looking as bloodshot as if he hadn't slept for a week. But the irises were once again a striking near-black, glimmering with humour as he gave her a mischievous wink.

"Doesn't stop you from being a sight for sore eyes."

Riza reached to the side, setting the glasses on the countertop. "I think I'd appreciate the compliment more if it weren't hidden inside a terrible joke."

Sobering, Roy took a half-step back, looking her over carefully. "I'd feel more confident in the compliment if you weren't still pale as a ghost," he admitted. "I couldn't see it through the lens tinting, but you definitely have the look of someone who's lost a lot of blood."

Unconcerned, she turned back toward the grocery bag. "That's hardly a coincidence, seeing as how I _did_ lose a lot of blood."

His hand settled onto her arm. "Yes, you did, but you've had two separate transfusions. You should have regained some of that colour by now." Gently, he turned her toward himself. "Riza, if there was ever a time for you to be honest with me, it's now. You're whiter than white, but are you having any of the other symptoms? Dizziness, fatigue, feeling faint? Any of that?"

She shook her head. "None."

His hands took one of hers, pressing the fingers between his palms with an analytical frown. Across the room, the telephone began to ring, but he ignored it. "You're sure? Because your hands are cold, too."

"My hands are _always_ cold." Pulling free, she headed toward the phone. "Roy, I know you want to help, I know you're concerned. But if you're going to worry this much, it's only going to slow us down. Please; if I tell you I'm fine, you can rest assured I am." Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Forced to wait, he took the refrigerated items from the bag, putting them away as he watched her facial expression change from polite inquiry to professional concentration. "Again already?" A pause. "All right, I understand. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Hanging up, she gave him a grim look. "If you still have concerns, they'll have to wait, sir. Our killer just surfaced again, in one of the residential neighbourhoods. We're needed at the scene."

"All right. I should have expected we'd hit the ground running." Closing the gap between them, he caught her hand before she could move away. "But when we get back, maybe you should let me look you over more closely." He grinned. "Just to reassure myself that you're really as okay as you say you are."

Riza returned the smile. "Only if you let me do the same."


	11. The Scene at the Crime

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! sorry for the sudden absence last week. i was on vacation, and while that ordinarily doesn't stop me from updating, this was my honeymoon and so, I awarded myself a break. But now it's time to get back to our favourite couple. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven - The Scene at the Crime**

187 PLUM STREET, EAST CITY

1505 HOURS, APRIL 16

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets and his eyes roaming between the two bodies on the floor. Only the woman had bled, the pool spreading from her neck staining the collar and chest of her printed cotton house dress. The man, dressed in pajamas and tangled in a dressing gown, lay nearby, his glasses skewed from his tumble to the floor.

Riza's voice sounded quietly from his elbow, and he turned toward her. "It would appear that the husband – Raymond Angelini, according to his driver's license — called in sick to work. One of the bedside tables upstairs is covered in used tissues, there's a hot water bottle, and a half-empty glass of orange juice. The bed was also unmade."

"Which if his wife were here alone, it would have likely been routine for her to make it after he left for work." He glanced once at the paleness of Riza's cheeks, still noticeable through the sunglasses now that he knew to look for it, but forced his worry for her out of his mind. He could deal with it later. "Speaking of the wife, do we have a name for her yet?"

"Yes. I found her purse near the front door, and a dry cleaning bill inside identifies her as Joanna Angelini." She looked up, her expression somber. "She must have been the one who opened the door for the killer."

"Especially if Raymond was laid up in bed." Worrying at the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, Roy looked from the front door to the kitchen, and back again. "So Joanna lets the bad guy inside, possibly either already at gunpoint or on some pretext, since there's no sign of forced entry and nothing to indicate a struggle in the entrance."

Riza was nodding agreement. "He follows her back to the kitchen where he either attacks her immediately or waits for an opportune moment — say, when her back was turned — before striking." Her eyes went to the dead pajama-clad man on the floor. "Of course, when her husband heard the commotion resulting from the attack, he came to investigate, and was killed for his trouble."

Roy leaned inside the kitchen doorway, then stepped in and edged around the bodies toward the stove. "Further proof that Raymond was home sick: she was making chicken soup." He leaned in, eyeing the glutinous mass the soup had been reduced to with a doubtful look. "Did the police turn the stove off, or was it like that when they got here?"

Flipping briefly through the first responding officer's notes in her hand, Riza frowned. "The police don't make mention of it. Seems like an oddly nice thing for the killer to do."

Grimacing in distaste, Roy eased away into the centre of the room, away from bodies and goopy soup alike. "I call it getting cocky. He's so sure we won't find any evidence to hold against him that he doesn't want to risk destroying the crime scene. If he'd left the stove on and as a result, the house burned down, we might not realize this was done by him. Instead, he turns off the burner and calls the murder in."

She nodded again, her expression now thoughtful and her eyes on the late Joanna Angelini. Finally, she said, "There's one thing that bothers me about this… and it's that this attack, in relation to the others, is relatively tame."

Roy lifted an eyebrow. "The unprovoked murder of an ill man and his homemaker wife in their own home in broad daylight is tame?"

"Compared to Walston, the hospital administration clerk, the two homeless men, and the Jamieson family?" She shot him a meaningful look. "Keep in mind, sir, this is the first crime scene you've actually seen. The others were, forgive me for being graphic, about ten times more violent. All that's happened here is that Mrs. Angelini has some bleeding from the neck and Mr. Angelini's is snapped. It's not like the others where their throats were torn out."

Frowning deeply, Roy moved to lean over Joanna's body, trying to get a better look at her neck without touching her. The medical examiner was annoyed enough at having Central City officers on an East City crime scene; he didn't need body tampering as an excuse to throw them out. "I see what you mean. All she has are some puncture wounds on the side of her neck."

"Exactly. Which, at first glance, made me wonder if this is the work of the killer from Central." Riza crouched near the dead woman's head, pointing with a pen toward the pool of blood on the floor. "However, speaking from personal experience, this is not enough lost blood that she would pass out, let alone die. The medical examiner says that her neck isn't snapped, and that she's showing all the signs of abnormally low blood levels." She looked up. "So where did it go?"

A sinking feeling spread through Roy's chest as he leaned against the kitchen island. "This isn't the first crime scene where blood mysteriously vanished from a body," he said, hating the thought. "A dead body, murdered viciously, but without the room practically being painted in blood? It doesn't add up. If the crime scenes appeared more staged, I'd almost think they were killed somewhere else, losing a lot of blood, and then dumped where they were found. But that's clearly not the case."

Riza stood, hesitating a moment to speak before saying, "It sounds… both preposterous and even more profoundly disturbing than this already is, but…. Is there a way or a purpose for the killer to drain some of the victims' blood for… for his own uses?"

He stared at her for a moment, before his thought processes got over the surprise and kicked into gear. "You mean, if he had some sort of blood deficiency and was using his victims as his own personal blood bank?" He considered, not liking the conclusion, but forced to acknowledge it. "It's certainly a possibility. It would even provide a possible connection, in how he chooses his victims. He would have to know their blood type ahead of time…."

"Meaning he could have access to medical records," Riza put in. Roy could see the gears turning in her mind, bringing light to those brown eyes as they stared into the middle distance. "It would also provide an explanation for why he went after the administration clerk — she could have identified him as a suspect if it came to it. And if she happened to be the right blood type…."

"Hold on a minute." He stood with one hand to his chin, still tracking along with his own thoughts. "I don't want to shoot down your theory, but this is assuming all the victims are, in fact, of the same blood type. If it's the wrong one, he wouldn't be able to use it."

"He would if he were a very specific blood type himself," Riza pointed out. "There's one in particular that's generally known as a 'universal acceptor.' They can take type A, type B, type O, whatever, without it presenting a problem. If the killer has that specific blood type, and is stealing blood for his own use, it won't much matter what type it is."

"Right." Suppressing a shudder, he started for the door. "Let's make a note to talk to either Dr. Knox or Dr. Marcoh, see if they know anything about blood diseases. In the meantime, there's one or two witnesses to talk to and then we'd better make a report to Hakuro before he comes looking for one."

When they stepped out the front door, there were far more people gathered on the lawn than had been there when they entered. A thin cordon of a handful of military police held back the small crowd, half of which were neighbourhood residents, and the other half comprised of reporters. As soon as they recognized Roy from the Central newspapers, the media hounds started clamouring, bombarding them with questions.

"Colonel! Is it true the couple living here was murdered?"

"How are you working this case in East City if you're stationed in Central?"

"Is the murder related to the military?"

"Does this have anything to do with the battle in Central City?"

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Roy reined in the annoyance that swarming reporters always caused, and kept his face professionally blank. "At this time we can only confirm that there was a murder at this address, however, we can't speak to motive or suspects."

Neighbours gasped, some of the women covering their mouths in ladylike shock as Roy turned his attention from the reporters, and motioned the medical examiner — waiting off to one side behind the police cordon —up the front steps. One of the bolder reporters shoved to the front of the crowd, nearly into the officer guarding that section.

"Colonel, do you mean to say that you don't have any sort of lead on this case? That the suspect is still at large and unidentified?"

Roy glared in the man's direction, and belatedly realized the look was hidden by the sunglasses. Slowly, with deliberation, he reached up and removed them, hoping that the reddened tissues would add some clout behind the obvious anger. "What I mean to say is that this is still an open investigation, and therefore, I'm not at liberty to disclose anything I haven't already said."

The man wouldn't be deterred. Even as Roy slipped the glasses back on and stepped out of the examiner's way, the reporter turned his attention to Riza. "Lieutenant, there were reports you were wounded badly during the Battle of Central. Are you really strong enough to be investigating active cases?"

Feeling hot ire beginning to build in his chest, Roy looked to her to gauge her reaction…. And held perfectly still. Riza's face was its usual unreadable mask… but as well as he knew her, he could see the cold fury beginning to bring tension to her shoulders. The tight smile she offered held no warmth or humour.

"The paperwork said I was, so here I am."

That drew low, nervous chuckles from a few of the neighbours and one or two of the less pushy reporters. The one who had challenged her didn't get time for a rebuttal before the officer in front of him nudged him back into the crowd.

Roy turned his back on the group of people, stepping close to her and keeping his voice low. "Nicely done. Don't pay that one any more attention, if he's going to spout lame questions like that. If you can, keep your eyes on the civilians; see if there's anyone that seems out of place."

Her eyes were already sweeping slowly over the gathering. "You mean 'out of place' as in 'seems like they're returning to the scene of the crime?' I've been watching. I can't say anyone is exactly jumping out at me, but if he can blend in on a street in broad daylight…."

"My thoughts exactly."

It was a short wait before the rattle of gurneys sounded from inside the house, the coroner and his assistant each pushing one. A body-shaped featureless lump rested on each, covered by a white blanket and strapped into place. On the smaller lump, where the neck and upper chest would be, a small red stain had already appeared on the sheet.

Roy stepped down off the front stoop as the coroner came through the door; Riza stepped aside, keeping the higher altitude where she could survey the crowd. Neighbours backed up or turned away in shocked silence as the bodies descended the steps; even a reporter or two averted their eyes, but kept scribbling in notepads.

Roy turned his back on the crowd as cameras started clicking away, watching as the first gurney carrying Raymond Angelini went by. He didn't so much see the body as notice his shadow falling on the white sheet. Such stark contrast still tended to play tricks on his eyes. As the gurney with Joanna's red-spotted white sheet was rolling passed, another shadow rose beside his. Roy watched it, frowning, trying to decipher where it had come from.

And in the next instant, there was a collective gasp from the crowd and the sound of an impact. The strange shadow flew out of sight. Just as Roy turned to see what was going on behind him, he felt himself pushed firmly to the side, a blur of colour in front of him.

It took his eyes a moment to register that it was Riza, her back to him and her stance low and ready. One arm held level in front of his chest to keep him back, she kept her eyes on the bold reporter who had challenged her, watching as he slowly collected himself from the ground.

"Lieutenant?" Roy asked softly, glancing from her to the man on the ground, and back again. "Catch me up?"

"He was standing right behind you, holding a camera up over your head," she said, her voice tight and controlled. The chill in it nearly sent a shiver through him; she meant business. "Whether to get a good photo or to brain you with it, I don't know, but after the battle in Central, I'm not taking chances."

"I know." He settled a hand on her shoulder, in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "I think he's learned his lesson. Leave him there, and —"

"You crazy bitch!" The reporter shoved himself to his feet, his face red. Dirt and grass stains were ground into the knees of his suit pants, and his hat had been knocked off in the fall, lying on the grass next to his camera. "I ought to sue you for this! You think you can just push people around when all they're doing is their job?!"

Riza didn't move, other than to stand a little straighter. "If you can show me where in your job description it says for you to present a threat to a military officer, I'll gladly apologize."

The low 'oooooooooh' that sounded from the crowd only seemed to anger the reporter further. He stalked forward a few steps, hands curling into fists. "You want me to present a threat? I can arrange that!"

Her voice was low, her expression as blank as always, and the words had no trouble carrying in the clear air. "Sir, it's only fair to warn you: if you take one step closer, I _will_ drop you."

For a long moment, the reporter stared at her. His fists unclenched… clenched…. His jaw set, and he deliberately picked up his left foot and stepped forward.

Riza didn't even hesitate. She took a half-step of her own to meet him, and threw an easy, slow punch toward the man's left shoulder. His hand came up in time to catch her fist, but he didn't see her free hand coming until it was too late. She made contact with his stomach, knocking the air out of him, then stepped to the side as he doubled over, gasping.

"You were warned, Mr. —" She threw a casual glance at the press pass tucked into his hat band, still lying abandoned on the ground. "— Collins. Stand down."

Beginning to breathe a little easier, Collins grinned at her, the expression more than a little reckless. "Ha…. Guess you weren't lying about being fit for active duty, Lieutenant." He straightened, though a little stiffly. "Can't say much for your left hook, though. You hit like a girl."

Roy saw the flash of that same cold fury in her eyes, though she held her ground. "I hit like I was holding back, so that perhaps you wouldn't have your pride wounded too badly," she corrected flatly. Her eyes darted briefly to the side as the military police, recovering from their initial surprise, began to inch toward the irate reporter. "I'll say it again, Mr. Collins; stand down."

Defiance radiated from the man's stance as he stood his ground, watching her with bold, smug superiority. "You can't lay so much as a finger on me, Lieutenant," he mocked. "Much as you might like to, there's just too many witnesses and no probable cause." He leaned forward, clearly mocking. "So why don't you and your boss run along and play detective somewhere else so my colleagues and I can get some actually _meaningful_ work done."

Even before she moved, Roy knew the other man was in deep trouble. He was just opening his mouth to address the nearest MP, the charge of 'disturbing the peace' floating to the forefront in his mind, when Riza did two things. First, for the briefest of instants, she went perfectly still. She didn't so much as breathe or blink.

Second, so smoothly it was like dancing, she darted forward, grasped Collins by the lapels of his coat, and twisted with him in a textbook takedown that ended with him flat on his back in the dirt and her straddling his chest. As if from a distance, Roy watched her right fist haul back and then slam solidly into the reporter's jaw… and then he himself was moving.

She was just drawing her right arm back for a second swing when he intervened, wrapping both arms around her midriff and lifting. Adrenaline momentarily boosting his strength, it felt like she weighed no more than a child. Roy backed off with her held against him, holding on gamely even as she tried briefly to struggle. Teeth gritted, she watched the MPs helping a dazed Collins first to sit up and then stand.

By the time the reporter was on his feet, she had stopped squirming. Roy knew her feet were just barely touching the ground, but he still didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he looked toward the grim-faced police sergeant on his left. "I think we've done all we can here. Once you've got your report ready, submit it to me at Headquarters."

The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir. We'll handle things here. We'll talk to Collins, make sure he understands that the scene was a little…." His eyes went briefly to Riza's face as Roy set her down, and then away just as quickly. "…A little overwhelming."

Roy nodded grimly, before shifting his arm to around Riza's shoulders, guiding her in the general direction of where they had left their borrowed car. She made one attempt to shake him off in irritation, but he kept his grip. Walking beside her, the clench of her teeth was evident in the tension of her jaw, anger still smoldering quietly in her eyes. Neither of them spoke as he opened the passenger door for her, handed her inside, then closed it and crossed to the driver's side.

A full three seconds of silence passed after he settled behind the wheel, before he broke it. "Spit it out."

Riza didn't hesitate. "You should have let me hit him again," she murmured darkly, brown eyes glaring out the front windshield. "I'll face whatever punishment I have to, but I will _not_ stand by while my work and my reputation are insulted to my face."

"Nor should you," he commented mildly. "That being said, you have to realize that your picture is going to wind up in the paper, and the story of you decking a member of the media is going to draw more attention than the murder itself."

When she didn't answer, he gave her a sidelong look, pulling off the sunglasses. "Riza, look at me." It took her a moment, but she finally dragged her eyes from the windshield to meet his. The anger was fading, beginning to be replaced by embarrassment and the dawning realization of exactly what she had done. "You've withstood worse insults before," he said, keeping his voice low and gentle, trying not to sound reprimanding. "What happened this time? What was different?"

She opened her mouth… paused… closed it again, and shook her head. "I… I wish I had an answer for you, sir. It's been a long time since I lost my temper like that, and…. I don't know how or why I lost control. I only know that I did." She had glanced away little by little as she spoke, and now her eyes came flickering back to his. "The last time I lost my temper that badly… was when I faced Lust. When she told me she had killed you and Havoc."

It was not unlike watching a cat calming down after a fit, watching raised and ruffled fur smoothing slowly back into place… but on another, heartbreaking level, he was watching her slowly deflate, slowly draw into herself as she realized the enormity of her actions. Shifting closer on the bench seat of the car, he caught one of her hands.

"And just like last time, there was some exterior catalyst," he assured her. "Whether it was the crime scene, whether it was leftover trauma from the Promised Day…. Maybe even the blood loss. A week ago, you were in a battle for your life, for mine, for the lives of everyone in the country." He touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "No one comes through something like that emotionally unscathed. You know that."

"I know." Her eyes were focussed on her lap, her usual businesslike air beginning to faintly reassert itself. "Once Collins files his charges, that will have to be my defense. Hopefully Hakuro will buy it."

"Spell it out for me. Like you will in the report."

Shifting to sit straight, she spoke clearly, choosing her words deliberately. "Collins made a movement that, although innocent in retrospect, I interpreted as a hostile action. Because of everything I experienced on the Promised Day — no, wait. During the Battle of Central — I've recently been overly sensitive regarding sudden or strange emotions near you, myself, or any member of our team. I took steps to stop Collins from whatever he was doing, resulting in a verbal altercation, which — also thanks to the battle — I perceived as continued threatening action on his part, and I reacted."

Roy nodded in satisfaction, giving her hand a brief squeeze before sliding back behind the wheel. "Sounds perfectly plausible to me. I'm willing to bet that's exactly what happened, too. Your track record speaks for itself: you've never been one to react without reason, so if you felt there was a threat, there was likely a threat."

As he turned the key in the ignition, slipping the sunglasses back into place over his reddened eyes, Riza went back to staring out the window. Unlike before, the furrow between her eyebrows was caused by deep thought and worry, instead of simmering fury. "I can only hope Hakuro will see it the same way, sir," she murmured.

Roy hoped the General would as well… but knew it wasn't likely. Deep in the pit of his stomach, worry began to turn over on itself. Worry for the consequences… and for her. He could tell himself all he wanted that it was a delayed reaction to Promised Day trauma, to her nearly bleeding out. He could reassure her in a calm, steady tone of voice… but one thought still nagged at him.

Whatever circumstances might have been for her, Riza Hawkeye very rarely snapped. When she did, it was seldom good.

* * *

OAK STREET, EAST CITY

7:00 P.M., APRIL 16

The man loitered outside the house, in the shadowed space between it and its neighbour. Waiting beside the window, he kept himself tucked tight against the siding so that he wouldn't be spotted in the golden light washing outward the failing flow of early sunset.

Inside, a young family — two parents and two children — played or read in the comfort of their living room. Music issued softly from the radio on its table against the wall, the sound flowing easily to the man's keen ears as he waited. His foot tapped in time with the upbeat jazz, and he reminded himself that humming the jaunty melody would only lead to his being discovered. A shame.

 _Music has charms to soothe the savage breast_ , the old phrase drifted through his mind. He smiled. As though mere organized sound had the power to to dissuade him, the most savage of them all….

The song ended, and the soft announcing chimes of the seven o'clock news came through the window. Inside, there was a rustle as the father set aside his newspaper and reached over, turning up the volume. A flap of pages as the mother set aside her reading, though the two children continued playing quietly on the floor.

"Good evening, and welcome to the seven o'clock edition of the East City News," the anchor read over the airwaves. "Our top story this hour: East City Murder Spree Continues. Military police were called early this afternoon to the home of a Mr. and Mrs. Angelini in the city's south end, when the occupants were discovered deceased by a neighbour."

"My goodness, how awful," the mother murmured. "Kids, why don't you go play upstairs?"

The sound of the children scampering off drowned out the next few lines of the announcer's spiel, and when it was audible again, the man edged closer to the window. "— two investigators responding to the scene are believed to have travelled from Central City. Former East City anti-terrorism specialist and State alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang has been investigating similar murders in Central City, and appears to have travelled here for the same purpose."

"They got that Mustang guy involved?" the father commented, sounding impressed. "It really must be bad if they dragged him all the way out here from Central. And only a little over a week since that big battle there…."

"They must think that, since he knows East City so well, he could provide some insights others couldn't," the mother surmised.

"Tensions were high following Colonel Mustang's inspection of the scene," the announcer butted in, and the man tuned out the other adults. "One reporter from the East City Standard was allegedly attacked by Mustang's aide-de-camp, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye after he made what she claimed to have been a threatening action against her superior."

The man's ears pricked, and he went completely still. This was newsworthy indeed…. For the ever-stoic Lieutenant Hawkeye to full-out assault a member of the media and in broad daylight in front of multiple witnesses…. He ran a tongue over his teeth. His special brand of toxin must be working its sinister magic after all.

"Multiple witnesses confirm the actions of Lieutenant Hawkeye, though many state that the reporter she allegedly fought was given ample warning not to press the issue and he continued to goad her. There is no word yet as to whether charges will be laid, and no leads in the murder investigation that could lead to the arrest of a suspect."

As the anchor turned to a story about rising stocks in sheep and wool from the Resembool area, the man turned away and prowled off into the darkening back yard of the house.

If Hawkeye was to the point of the anger beginning to overtake her, he mused, then her development was more advanced than he might have anticipated. Perhaps paying her that second visit in Central had been worth it. His transformation had taken no more than twelve hours, but then again, he had had the benefit of springing forth almost entirely whole. All that had been left for him to do was collect himself into a solid form and find easy prey to strengthen himself. Riza, only a week into a her own transformation and starting that from scratch, was bound to take longer than he had. She bore checking on.

Distracted as he was, he did not take precautions to hide himself as he crossed the yard to the narrow strip of trees at the back of the property. Behind and above him, he heard a child's voice call, "Lucy, look! There's a weird guy in the yard!"

The man darted forward, disappearing into the trees and blending instinctively with the shadows. A moment later, a little girl's voice sounded scornfully. "Mama told you about lying, Nathan. There's nobody there. You lie again, you're gonna get in trouble!"

"He was there a second ago," the boy grumbled. The man ignored them both and slipped off through the trees. Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated to pounce upon such soft, unwary targets, but he had already sated the hunger for today. The family was safe… at least for tonight.

He kept his steps measured and silent as he worked his way from the residential area back toward the heart of the city. The night deepened, taking away the burning sensation the sun left on his skin. His eyes stayed steady on the cluster of taller buildings and lights that showed where the downtown core glittered in the dark.

* * *

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

2153 HOURS, APRIL 16

Roy was stretched on the couch, flat on his back with a damp, ice-filled washcloth over his eyes to try and bring the last of the swelling down. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, his fingers doing their absent-minded drumming, indicating that his mind was hard at work even while the body was idle. Finally, he spoke.

"Tell me again what you saw. What he did that made you take him down the first time."

Letting out a quiet sigh, Riza reached down and closed the file. Drawing a deep breath, she dropped her feet to the floor from their place curled under her in the armchair. "I saw Collins approaching the gurneys — and you — while your back was turned. He was carrying his camera, and trying to stay in line with you so that you wouldn't see him in your peripheral." She frowned, trying to recall the incident in clearer detail. "When he was close enough, he lifted the camera over his head, pointing it toward the bodies. From where I stood, I didn't know whether he was simply taking a photo or trying to knock you on the head… and I realized I didn't want to leave anything to chance."

He shifted minutely, turning his head fractionally in her direction. "So you tackled him, because it was the the most direct way to get him away from me."

"Exactly. Everything after that — the arguing, the shouting… you know all that." She returned her chin to her hand, her eyes on the floor. "All I can say to explain that is that… well, I was already on edge enough that he managed to get under my skin. And once he did… I just saw red. I reacted without thinking." Her lips thinned into a narrow line of distaste. "That's what the charges will be for. The first tackle was in response to a perceived threat, but I had no valid reason to go after him the second time."

"Don't worry about it too much." Reaching up, he lifted the ice off his left eye just enough to see, looking at her from under the shadow of the cloth. "I'm sure things with Collins can be sorted out. You're both professionals; sitting down and talking things out might be enough to get the charges dropped. If he files them at all."

She gave him a doubtful look. "It was on the news, Roy. He practically has no choice but to file."

"Does he though?" He grinned and dropped the ice back over his eye. "It's now public knowledge that he got his ass handed to him by someone who, a week ago, was down forty percent of her blood supply and recuperating in hospital. It wouldn't surprise me if he's too embarrassed to have you charged."

She smiled, though it faded quickly. "It doesn't make what I did right, though. I suppose that the only thing is for me to learn from the mistake and move on."

"That would be my advice."

The room fell into silence again, both of them returning to their thoughts. Feeling a little more relieved, Riza allowed her eyes to fall closed. She could finally feel herself sinking slowly toward sleep, but didn't bother to get up and transfer to the bedroom. That would only bring her back awake and she would have to start the process all over again. If she fell asleep in the chair, perhaps she would have the small pleasure of Roy gently waking her as he carried her in to bed….

She smiled, her imagination calling up the sensation of his arms around her, of his shoulder supporting her resting head, of her shoulder fitting perfectly into the cup of his hand…. Nestling deeper into the plush chair, she gave herself over to the fantasy.

She dozed lightly in and out for who knew how long, before a hand gently took hers. Not opening her eyes, waiting for the slip of an arm beneath her knees that meant a gentlemanly carry to a soft mattress, Riza held still.

It didn't come. Instead, there was a quiet chuckle, and a pair of lips touched her cheek before travelling down to the uninjured side of her neck. Breaking into a smile, she opened her eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of the dark hair, and gave a soft, contented sigh. No doubt he was trying to help her unwind, help her de-stress in one of the most immediate ways he could.

She lifted her free hand to his shoulder, digging briefly with her nails to express her approval… and felt her pulse pick up as he caught her wrist. In another second, both her hands were pinned to the top of the armchair above her head, what had been a soft, steady rhythm of kisses against her neck becoming more insistent.

Grinning, she turned her head toward him, murmuring into his ear. "Seems I'm not the only one acting aggressively today."

"No, but yours was certainly much more of a show."

She froze instantly as he spoke, fear rising up through her chest as shock and embarrassment catapulted down. The man leaned back, far enough that she could see the broad smile swimming underneath that shifting face. Her eyes cut sideways to where Roy still lay on the couch, his mouth slightly open in the deep, even breathing of sleep.

Anger flooded in to replace the other emotions, and she glared up at the strange-faced man. "Get off of me."

"I will," he promised, then laughed as she pulled against his one-handed grip keeping her wrists pinned to the top of the chair. "Darling, believe me, I do love it when they struggle, but it's mostly tiresome when it comes from you." He caught her chin in his free hand, forcing her to look at him. "Especially when it's only going to make things more difficult."

"That was my plan," she gritted, trying unsuccessfully to tug her chin from his grip. "Why should I make things easy for you?"

He let go of her chin, reaching up to undo the first of his shirt buttons. "Because, my dear, all too soon, you'll begin to see things from my point of view. After tonight, I daresay… you'll never be the same."

Unsure of what to say, Riza watched, dumbfounded as he opened his shirt two-thirds of the way down. Taking one long-nailed finger, he drew it diagonally down across his chest, leaning over her as blood welled into the long, deep scratch he left. Behind the shifting face, dark eyes glittered as they bored into hers.

"After tonight… my revenge will begin in earnest."


	12. Truth is Hard to Swallow

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! it's so nice to finally get back to routine - with everything else I had going on in the last month or so, writing kind of fell by the wayside. But the other night, I sat down and banged out a chapter in two and a half hours! I'll have to try and replicate that feat this week, but for now, enjoy!_

 _Fair warning, this chapter contains high amounts of blood. I know you know that, but this time it's kinda… gross. proceed wtih caution._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve - Truth is Hard to Swallow**

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

2307 HOURS, APRIL 16

Coming awake was a lot like regaining consciousness. Roy had no recollection of having fallen asleep, but from the groggy feeling lurking somewhere in the centre of his brain and the melted ice leaking slowly down his cheek, it must have been a while ago. Soft shifting sounds came from his left, where Riza had been in the armchair the last he knew. He reasoned that that was what had woken him; her movement as she prepared to stand up and get ready for bed, and if he wanted to join her….

Reaching up, he carefully pulled the folded washcloth from his face so as not to dump the remaining ice cubes everywhere. He set the small bundle on the floor, taking a moment to stretch luxuriously on the soft cushions — Grumman certainly knew how to pick a couch — before opening his eyes and lifting up on one elbow. He was opening his mouth to say something about heading to bed when the bizarre scene in front of him froze the words in his lungs.

A figure in a dark suit held Riza pinned in the chair by her wrists, kneeling across her lap. He was leaned forward, one long-fingered hand grasping her tightly by the chin. Roy was blocked by the stranger's body from seeing the majority of her face, but he could see her eyes.

They were wide, unblinking, and glassy with a combination of fear and … he wasn't sure what. They had the same faraway look she got during her occasional rounds of sleepwalking, but this seemed somehow… unnatural. She was making a noise he had never heard from her before, some type of soft click from deep in her throat, punctuated by the occasional wet-sounding gurgle or choked-off cough.

Unbidden, a soft, strangled-sounding "…What…?" dropped from his lips with all the weight of an anvil in the otherwise silent room.

In the space of a blink, the dark-clad man separated himself, ending up six feet away inside of a second. Blood seeped from a wound on his chest, smeared on the skin and oozing into the white fabric of his undone shirt. He paused a moment, staring directly at Roy… and then a smile spread behind the weird water-reflection shift of his face.

"Ah… I thought you were deeply enough asleep that my visit would go unnoticed," he commented mildly. "My mistake, Colonel. I must have gotten distracted and let my influence over you slip…. I'll have to remember that for next time." He sketched a quick bow in Riza's direction. "Lieutenant. A pleasure, as always."

Before either of them could react, he dashed toward the nearest window, hurling himself toward it. Roy tensed, waiting for the crash of shattering glass… and stared instead as the man's body elongated into a long string and shot out through the edge of the window frame.

Roy bolted off the couch, reaching for the tail end of the string, but his hand closed on empty air. He stood, feeling thoroughly confused, and watched as the man reformed down in the alley on the other side as though nothing had happened. He looked up, tipped a languid wave, and took three steps away from the street before vanishing into the shadows.

For a long second, he stood still, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Turning, hands on his hips, he said, "What the hell was —"

She was staring at him from the depths of the chair, her eyes almost impossibly wide. Riza seemed rooted to the spot out of pure shock, apparently unaware of the smears of blood covering her chin, nose, and parted lips.

Roy took a hesitating step in her direction… then felt the weight of his shock and horror drop fully onto his shoulders. "…Riza…. What the hell is going on?"

She seemed to stiffen at the mention of her own name, her mouth closing so fast that he heard her teeth click together. In another instant, he saw the hitch in her shoulders that signalled her hastily-suppressed gag before she pushed to her feet and bolted off down the hallway.

"Riza!"

He dashed after her, seeing the bathroom light flick on and the door slam shut just ahead of him. He skidded to a stop outside the door as the sound of the first retch came through the wood. Sympathy flooded his chest, and he cautiously eased the door open, slipping inside.

She was kneeling on the tile floor in front of the toilet, one hand braced against the tank, the other wrapped tightly across her stomach as she vomited. Roy settled to the floor behind her, resting a steadying hand high on her back. Just enough to let her know he was there, that she wasn't alone even as he swallowed hard against his own rising gorge.

At last, the heaving stopped, leaving her panting as she tried to get her breath back. Her hand groped blindly for the flush handle, washing away the evidence as she dropped back to a seat on the cool tile. Tearing off a length of toilet paper, Roy wadded it together and passed it to her without a word, his eyes on the flecks of red spattered just inside the toilet bowl where the water hadn't reached.

"Feeling better?" he tried, sounding lame to his own ears.

"Not by much," she admitted. She pulled the tissue away from her mouth, and stared at it in dull disgust. "…Dammit…." Her eyes rose to his, looking darker than usual in her pale face. "What about you?"

He laughed humourlessly. "Well, I've gone from piss-myself scared to just plain worried sick, so that's an improvement." Shaking his head, he leaned back against the wall. "Worried sick, confused, disbelieving…. It's all kind of jumbled together. For good measure…." His gaze turned firm when it met hers. "For good measure, let's throw in suspicion, because whoever or whatever that guy was, it seemed like he knew you."

Guilt shaded her features in the space of a breath, and her eyes fell to her hands. When she saw the bloodied tissue in her hand, she immediately dropped it into the toilet. "It's… not the first time he and I have met," she hedged.

Reaching out, he nudged her gently on the thigh, taking the sting out of his words. "And am I going to have to fight this new guy to win your affection?"

Her smile only reached one side of her mouth. "Maybe just to keep him away from me." She looked up, unsettled, shifting to sit cross-legged. "You… saw his face, didn't you?"

"Not in any true sense of the phrase." He frowned, trying to picture exactly what he _had_ seen. "It was… blurry, kind of moving all the time, like the features were changing all the time, or…."

"Or like you were looking at him from underwater," she finished grimly. "That's all I saw as well, and it gets worse up close. I couldn't accurately describe what he looked like if I tried."

"At least it might confirm that he's the one behind the Central City murders," Roy pointed out. "Casella's sources said that no one could get a clear bead on what his face actually looked like… maybe because it was always changing." He paused, then frowned. "You've been the closest out of anyone. Did you get a look at his teeth, by any chance?"

She cast him an odd look, then drifted into introspection. "I remember him smiling at me — a broad smile that showed his teeth. But I don't — wait…." Realization dawned, and her gaze swung back to meet his. "I thought it was the result of the distortion, but… it _did_ look as though he might have had pointed teeth."

"…All of them? Like a shark?"

Riza shook her head. "No, nothing that drastic. Just these ones." She pointed to her own upper canine teeth; Roy tried to ignore the faint smudge of red on the left one. "More like… more like a dog's fangs."

"Okay." And now, the question he was dreading the most. "And…what was he doing to you? Just a few minutes ago?"

He saw the bleak look come over her eyes, that expression that said this was a topic she was appalled by and truly didn't want to discuss. The same look came up whenever she was forced to talk about Ishval. Shifting, he settled behind her and drew her carefully back against his chest. "Riza, I know you don't want to relive it. _I_ don't want to relive it, but I have to understand what's going on. You don't have to make eye contact, you don't even have to look at me, but I need you to tell me what happened."

He tucked his nose against the back of her neck, closing his eyes. "Talk to me. We've got enough secrets already; we don't need more."

She reached up, holding onto the arms wrapped around her in a comforting gesture of her own, and took a deep breath. "If we're starting from the beginning… I first saw him while we were still in Central. When we went to visit Hughes after the meeting with the Armstrongs and Scar. You remember, I went off on my own and left you to talk to him for a while?"

"Yeah. I thought you seemed kind of quiet when you came back, but I thought it must have been just being in the cemetery."

Riza shifted in his arms, just enough that she could look up and back at him if she wanted to; he took that as a good sign. "That was when I first thought he might be the killer. When we spoke to Casella, he said, 'The guy you're looking for could climb sheer walls.' I brushed it off as hyperbole, but… I saw this man do it." She frowned, looking off toward the far wall of the little bathroom. "Strange, though. He had a straight run at the wall from where I tangled with him, but he seemed to be looking for a specific spot. He took a running jump over a particular grave and then shot straight up the wall."

His frown furrowing his forehead, Roy leaned back against the side of the bathtub. "Maybe he knew that section had better hand and footholds?"

"If they were there, I couldn't see them, and I was only maybe eight feet away." She swiped at her mouth with a thumb, grimacing in distaste when it came away with a smear of blood.

Roy pressed a kiss to her temple. "Should I be even more concerned that you used the phrase 'tangled with him' or just keep the worry at its current level?"

She smiled. "Current level. I was all right. He said some things that made me think even then that he knew me, and when I tried to call him on it, he started a fight."

"Oh. So you're brawling in graveyards, now." Smiling, he shook his head. "Such ladylike behaviour. Go on, what'd he say?'

Riza thought back another moment, then continued. "He commented on my control over my temper — lacking a little in the last day or so, but nothing that can't be remedied. He also knew I'd been wounded recently, then insinuated that I was… changing, somehow. It almost sounded like the talks they give in Physical Health at school. 'Your body's changing, you're going through something, you're no different than others your age…' That sort of thing."

His mind had been drifting toward the memory of the incredibly stern and… _detailed_ talk he had been given by his adoptive mother at the age of twelve, and he wrenched his thoughts away before he could develop a blush. "Did he say how you were supposed to be changing? Seems to me you would have grown out of puberty years ago."

She didn't smile at the joke. "He said… I wasn't 'complete,' like this alleged change was supposed to fill in some empty, missing part of me." She looked up. "Aside from the missing blood, though, I was under the impression all my associated parts were accounted for."

He laughed, briefly. "I would hope so. Anything else?"

She hesitated, clearly bracing herself to share this next piece of information. "After that… he leaned in and kissed me on the neck." She pointed to the injured side. "Right here. I guess proving he knew I'd been wounded there." When she caught the dark look on his face, she was quick to put a hand on his shoulder. "It was a power move, Roy, not a romantic one."

"Maybe so, but it's _my_ move." Freeing one hand, he reached up and gently tugged the collar of her shirt away from her neck, inspecting the wound. "Between seeing him then and tonight, do you have anything in the way of a description that we can use in the investigation?"

"Not much." She tilted her head away from him, allowing him a clearer view of her neck. "Male, maybe six feet tall, wearing a dark suit and a black fedora. He used the brim to hide his face most of the time. Slender, wiry build. What I could get from that weird masking over his face: dark hair, eyes that were either dark, blue, or green, fair skin, and probably no facial hair." She grimaced. "And the pointed teeth."

Behind her, Roy went still, his eyes locked on the wound to her neck. "…You said he kissed you on the neck? That's all he did?"

She didn't move to look up at him, but clearly sensed his tension. "It was… more of a… a lick, if anything. A long one, like—" He caught the colour rising in her cheek. "Like you do, from time to time. But nothing more than that. Why?"

He leaned close, inspecting the marks on her skin minutely. "When you relapsed in hospital, the doctor found small marks on either side of the cut. He surmised there had been some bit of metal or something embedded in the skin that the bandage rubbed loose, but…." Tilting his head, he tried to line up the marks in a way that made sense… and didn't like the conclusion.

"All right. I'm going to say something here that's… it's just _weird_ , but hear me out." Pulling back, he made sure to look her in the eye. "Those marks, either side of the cut? They're about the right space apart for a guy with pointed teeth to have… you know. Bit you."

For a moment, she simply stared at him. "Why would he bite me?"

"Why would he do whatever he was doing when I woke up and saw him?" he countered. "Which, by the way, you still haven't told me what he did."

Riza took a deep breath, her eyes darting briefly toward the toilet bowl. "He… trapped me in that chair," she said, slowly. She was choosing her words carefully, something he knew she did when discussing something she found uncomfortable. "I told him to get off, and he said he would, but all he did was open his shirt and give himself a long scratch." Reaching up, she trailed one finger on a diagonal from under her left collarbone to partway down the ribs on the right side. "Here."

He could feel dread welling up in his stomach, making him wonder if he'd be the next one to be bent over the toilet bowl. "And then?"

Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes returning to stare at the far wall again. The shock of it all was beginning to resurge, and he felt her body tense. "He, ah…." Riza swallowed hard. "He leaned closer, told me that after tonight, I wouldn't be the same, and…."

Fear wasn't something Roy was used to seeing in her eyes, and now that it was there, there was a distinct cracking feeling that came from the vicinity of his heart. He stayed silent, letting her work through her words, and snugged his arms a little more tightly around her.

"He basically pushed my face against his chest, and…. I kept trying to push away but he's… he's stronger than he looks." She shook her head. "I don't know how he was bleeding so badly from one scratch, but… it was everywhere. It nearly… I didn't want to open my mouth, so I… nearly suffocated when it… it clogged up my nose."

Roy closed his eyes, hating that he had to make her tell him. He could feel the muscles in her back shaking from continued tension, could hear the modulation of her voice dropping into a flat monotone as she began to mentally detach herself from what had happened…. But he had to know.

"When I realized I couldn't breathe… that's when I opened my mouth." She swallowed hard again. "I tasted blood, I could feel it seeping in…. He had my head tilted all the way back, so I… I had no choice but to…. To…."

"You had to swallow." The words came out in a whisper, and Riza nodded in confirmation.

"It kept up for maybe… five minutes? Just… more and more, and the entire time, he was just silent. He was breathing heavily, like… like he was…." She lifted both hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes as she took a deep, shuddering breath. "Like he was turned on by it. And then you woke up, and he bolted, and I —"

"Ssssshhhhhh, it's all right." His hand went to her hair, alternately stroking the soft strands and holding her protectively against his shoulder. "You're okay, now. You threw up anything he made you take. You're okay."

She wasn't crying, but he knew she was dangerously close. With her face buried in his shirt, she took another convulsive breath. "Why do these people always seek me out?" she muttered darkly. "Kimblee in Ishval singled me out. Barry in Central, then Bradley, even the gold-toothed doctor in the tunnels under the city…. Not to sound sorry for myself, but why me?"

He smiled, the gesture shaky at best. "Guys like a woman who can kick their asses," he said half-heartedly. "Why do you think I'm with you?"

Her loose fist socked him lightly on the arm. "You're not like them," she said softly. "Don't ever compare yourself like that. Please? You're nothing like them…."

"I know. Sorry, defusing the situation with humour was never something I was good at." Curling a finger under her chin, he lifted her head until their gazes met. "Tell me what I can do to help. There has to be something."

Her smile was wan, but her eyes tracked over his shoulder to the bathtub faucet. "I don't suppose I could convince you to run a bath? I feel… _dirty_ , for lack of a better word." Her hand found his, squeezing the fingers. "And then, maybe… join me in it? It sounds desperate, but I don't think I want to be more than two feet away from you right now."

Roy pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm not letting you farther away than one."

Ten minutes later, nestled in warm, bubble-filled water with her naked back resting against his equally naked chest, he watched the steady drip from the faucet, his face entirely blank… but his mind turned over exactly what fiery revenge he would exact on the strange man the next time they met. Riza was finally beginning to relax, now that the danger was past, but she had been hurt again.

His stomach churned at the memory of the smears of blood on her face, of the chilling, disturbing description of the man forcing his blood down her throat, of her own shaken voice as she told him what had happened. Even the thought of five minutes ago, when he had damped a washcloth in the hot, running water of the bath and carefully wiped the evidence of the event from her face…. It made him want to hold her closer against him, while at the same time his fingers itched for his gloves and a target.

Roy glared harder at the faucet, glad she couldn't see the fury he was working so hard to control. He hadn't even had his sight back for twenty-four hours, and already, he had failed in keeping her safe.

He was through letting that happen.

* * *

OUTSIDE 27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

2353 PM, APRIL 16

He hovered outside the small bathroom window, unable to see through the frosted glass, but listening to the last splashes of water falling into the bathtub. Wasn't that sweet — _his lover has a traumatic experience, and so Mustang sits with her in a romantic bubble bath to ease her tension._

Honestly, it was all a little pathetic. Then again, if Mustang was wrapped that badly around Hawkeye's finger, it would make her turning all that more painful for him, and the man's objective would be complete.

Unfolding his arms from the window sill, he let himself drop to the ground, landing lightly on the gravel around the side of the building. His hands in his pockets, he sidled off down the sidewalk, feeling nearly buoyant at the evening's success. Before, he had had to be within a certain proximity to Hawkeye to control her, but now….

He was perhaps 50 metres away, now, and he could still feel that presence at the back of his mind, as though he were aware of someone standing just behind him. She wasn't, of course. Her mostly calm presence was wrapped in an additional aura of contentment, which he associated as proximity to Mustang.

 _One day, little bird, those feelings will transfer to me. Once you realize that I'm the only choice you have_.

Smiling smugly to himself, he moved off across town toward his hideout. There was no need to feed tonight, so he would take the time to rest and plan his next move.

* * *

Within 45 minutes, the bath was growing tepid, and the pair of them reluctantly dragged themselves out of the water. For the first time, Roy avoided looking at her bare skin as much as he possibly could. She still carried herself in a way that suggested unease, and for him to be eyeing her up when she was likely still skittish from the events of earlier just seemed… _wrong_.

With a towel wrapped around her, she reached for her clothes… then hesitated, her hand hovering just above the fabric piled on the floor. Without a word, Roy passed her the shirt he'd been wearing; she accepted it in equal silence. The unspoken thought passed between them: _that's what I was wearing when_ he _was here_.

When he next glanced her way, it was to find her contemplating the closed lid of the toilet with a look of distaste. She looked back at him and caught his gaze, smiling sheepishly. "I should maybe clean that before going to bed," she murmured. "It probably shouldn't be left until —"

"I'll do it." Resting both hands on her shoulders, he nudged her toward the door. "Go on. I'll only be a minute."

Riza's smile was halfway amused, but still not at full strength. "Doesn't that count as letting me more than a foot away from you?"

"Call it incentive for me to hurry." The look he gave her as he reached for the toilet brush was firm. "It's nearly one a.m., Riza. Go; get to bed. I'll be there soon, I promise."

She lingered a moment longer, but disappeared into the hallway as he reached for the toilet lid. Even though it had been flushed, there were still one or two small spatters of a darkening red on the otherwise pristine porcelain. Roy washed them away with a quick scrub, flushed again, and replaced the brush in its holder. He straightened, moving to the counter to wash his hands, watching his own shirtless reflection in the wide counter mirror.

 _Just what_ was _that… can't call him a 'guy,' because I doubt he's human, but… he's too human-looking to be called a 'thing.'_ Frowning, he dried his hands on a soft towel, the thoughts still flashing through his mind with hazy speed. _He knew both of us, well enough to at least have some idea of our personalities and how we react to things…. And he's_ fast. _Fast and quiet; Hayate didn't even bark_ —

His frown deepened, and he moved to the bathroom door. "Riza? Where's the dog?"

"In here, with me," came the answer from the direction of the bedroom. "He's been asleep the whole time; I think being in a new place has him tired out." The soft pad of her feet sounded, before she appeared in the doorway, her expression curious. "Why?"

Roy shook his head. "He stayed quiet through it all: through that… that _stranger_ sneaking in here, through you being sick, through the bath… everything."

She had gone still, her expression watchful and alert. Glancing back over her shoulder, she kept her eyes steady in the direction of the bed for a moment before saying, "Well, the stranger said he could control people; he admitted doing it to you. Maybe it extends to dogs, too."

"Fair enough."

Looking back to him, she gave him that same soft, half-smile. "I think I've had enough of him tonight," she said, quietly. "Come to bed; let's try and get some sleep, and maybe things won't seem so crazy in the morning."

Roy tried to smile back, but knew he wasn't entirely successful. "Yeah, okay. Go ahead; I'll be in in a minute. I don't think I can sleep without checking that things are secure first."

She nodded, and disappeared into the room, and he headed back toward the living room. It was, he suspected, an exercise in futility to double-check the locks and windows; the stranger had already proven that he didn't need to use conventional entrances and exits. But, nevertheless, Roy checked that the apartment door was locked, and that all the windows were firmly shut. He avoided looking out into the nighttime street, not sure he could hold on to his sanity — or his temper — if he saw that shifting face at that moment.

He paused in front of the chair where the attack on Riza had happened. Small drops of blood stood out on the wood floor, several more on the fabric of the chair, with a couple of smears for good measure. Roy grimaced; he could clean up the floor and replace the chair easily enough… but it only compounded the fact that he was going to have to find some way to explain this to Grumman.

 _Explain it to Grumman; how am I supposed to do that when I can hardly understand it myself?_ he wondered, staring at the drying red drops on the floor. The old man was likely to ask if and what he'd been drinking if he tried to talk about it; it all sounded so completely implausible and farfetched. _Like something out of a horror story_.

With a quiet sigh, he turned off the light and headed back off down the hallway toward the bedroom. That familiar feeling, the one that had dogged him for six months when he knew Pride was watching, rose at the back of his neck. It prickled as the little hairs there stood on end, expecting a blow from the shadows at any moment. But none came, and he reached the welcome warm glow of the bedroom unscathed.

She was curled under the sheets, brown eyes watching the doorway from among the folds of fabric, the black Shiba Inu lying contentedly by her feet. Hayate lay Sphinx-like, with his head up and dark, intelligent eyes watching as Roy entered; his curled tail thumped the mattress in happy recognition.

"Well, you should be safe for the rest of the night, with two guard dogs," Roy commented, knowing the joke was a flat, lame one and unable to come up with anything better.

Riza smiled anyway, watching as he paused long enough to change into soft flannel pajama pants. She still wore his shirt, out of the comfort the garment gave her, he suspected. And he didn't mind in the slightest; if what it took to help ease her into sleep was wearing his shirt, she could keep that one and any of the dozen others like it in his closet.

She pulled the sheets back to allow him to slip in next to her, nestling herself against his side. Another bit of an oddity, since she preferred to have her space in order to fall asleep. Roy reasoned that if there were ever a night for oddities, it was tonight.

Leaning back against the pillows, somewhere in between sitting up and lying down, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "How're you doing now?"

She paused a moment before answering, using the time to take a deep, contemplative breath. "I'm… all right. Really. I… I think that now I've gotten rid of all the…." She faltered only briefly. "The blood, and now that he's gone, and that I know you're here…. I'm all right. And I'll be all right."

His stomach flipped a little at the reminding image of her bent over the toilet, coughing out nothing but red — "Speaking of that," he said carefully, "I don't mean to dredge it all up again, but… I've got to know. What he did to you, forcing you to… to drink blood like that…. Why?"

Her hair rustled against the shirt and the sheets as she shook her head. "If I knew, I would tell you. I'd also possibly be even more disturbed by it than I already am." She shifted, resettling herself even closer against his side, reaching out to wrap an arm around his chest. "All I can think of is that he did it for his own perverse kind of pleasure. Like I said, I could tell he was… he was getting off on what he was doing. He was turned on by it."

Absurdly, jealousy flared hot and liquid in his veins. Carefully quashing the emotion, Roy settled for a dark scowl. "As long as he doesn't think he's some kind of competition for me. I'm not having my girl stolen away from me by some twisted freak who's afraid to show his actual face."

Her laugh was small and drowsy, but it was at least a laugh. When Roy looked down, her eyes were closed, her body visibly relaxing beneath the soft cotton sheets. "If I've got to choose, you know I'll choose you every time," she murmured. She was quiet a moment, then stirred again. "Roy? It's silly, but… leave the light on?"

He pressed a kiss to her hair, deciding not to mention that he intended on staying awake as a guard anyway. "You got it. Get some sleep, love."

He supposed it was the emotional exhaustion and the warm bath combining that allowed her to drift off, but he himself couldn't relax. The arm he had wrapped around her went numb inside of half an hour, but he held still, refusing to let go of her. He needed her here, needed her close. Needed to feel her heartbeat and the soft exhales against the side of his chest.

Five hours until daylight, and probably seven until he could put his plan — the one beginning to formulate someplace deep in his mind — into action. She wasn't going to like it, in fact she was probably going to fight him tooth and nail on it unless he got the orders to come from higher up… but he couldn't let her stay here. Here in this apartment, in this city.

When he was sure she was asleep, he reached with his free hand for the nightstand on his side of the bed, pulling open the drawer and taking out one of the gloves he had placed inside earlier that day. Working his hand into it without letting go of her was something of a trick but he somehow managed it.

Until he could get her someplace safe, this would have to do. He would wait, he would watch, and if the stranger returned and didn't hypnotise him — or whatever that 'control' he'd spoken about was — before striking… there would be a fire to explain to Grumman, along with the bloodied chair in the living room.


	13. Moving Forward

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Just doing a quick drop in this week; its been a busy weekend, and I ought to get to bed. The usual warnings apply. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen - Moving Forward**

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

0912 HOURS, APRIL 17

It caused her a brief moment of panic, to ease her eyes open and find his half of the bed empty. Riza sat bolt upright, feeling her stomach clench with sudden worry — _no, call it what it is: fear_ — for him, then relaxed again as she caught sight of his pajama pants folded on a chair to one side of the room.

 _Jumping at shadows again_ , she chided herself gently. _You spent six months doing that with Pride; don't start again now_.

Slipping from underneath the sheets, she noted the absence of Hayate as she padded near-silently out of the room and down the hall toward the apartment's kitchen. Morning sun slanted into the living room ahead, looking warm and welcoming; much nicer than the low lamplight had last night.

She paused where the hallway ended in the open space of the connected living room and kitchen, taking a moment to study the figure slouched in a chair at the table, legs crossed at the knee. One hand rested in his lap, the other lay stretched on the table, toying idly with the handle of his coffee cup. A smile at his casual air started to spread across her lips… and hesitated when she caught his expression.

Roy's eyebrows were drawn low and close, his dark eyes staring at the mug in front of him without really seeing it. His only sign of movement was the slow motion of his lower lip as he worried it reflectively with his teeth. This was a deep thought pose. A deep, _serious_ thought pose.

She took a cautious step forward, into line with his peripheral vision. "Good morning."

"Hey." He didn't look up. "How did you sleep?"

"Once I got to sleep? Just fine." Stopping beside his chair, she slid one hand across his shoulders, picking up on the tension in the muscles. "What about you?"

At last, he tilted his head back, so that she could see the faint dark circles under his eyes. His smile was rueful. "Can't say I slept at all, actually." The hand resting on the table lifted the mug. "That's what this is for."

Guiltily, she lifted her hand from his shoulder, moving it to brush his bangs from his eyes. "I'm sorry. If it weren't for that incident last night…." Bending, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "If you want to try and get some sleep before going back to consulting on the case, then —"

"Ah… about that…." He turned his gaze back to the mug in his hand, but not before she saw the rueful smile tugging grimly at his lips. "There's… been a change of plans."

Her hand stopped in its slow raking through his hair, dark strands sticking up at odd angles through her fingers. Riza held perfectly still, taking time to study his turn of phrase from every angle possible. "…Did Hakuro find a way to remove us from the case?" she said at last, keeping her voice cool and controlled. "I don't think he was convinced we should be working it in the first place."

"He wasn't, but it wasn't him that pulled the plug," Roy murmured. "Before you got up, we had a phone call…."

* * *

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

0817 HOURS, APRIL 17

Dawn had brought rain and fog to the city, covering the damaged garrison in both. Grumman had been amused to find a few stray tendrils of mist in the hallway — seeping in through gaps in the outside walls — on his way to the Presidential office, but his good humour hadn't lasted long. A message left on his desk had informed him of another attack by the serial killer in East City the morning before, as did the new copy of the Central Times.

Settling into his desk chair, he spread the newspaper in front of him and took a deep breath. _Time to see what fear-mongering they're pushing today_ , he thought darkly.

It wasn't long in coming. The media reported both on the new crime scene and Riza's attack on the reporter in as much detail as they could muster. Irritation flared as the old man reached the last paragraph of the article.

 _While not officially dubbed so by investigators, the general public has taken to referring to the perpetrator as the East-Central Slayer, owing to the locations and extremely violent natures of the crimes._

Sitting back in the chair, Grumman slid a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Of all the names they could have come up with…. This is precisely what I had hoped to avoid."

Letting the newspaper flop flat onto the desk, he took a moment to huff out an irritated sigh before reaching for the telephone. It was the work of a moment to dial, waiting patiently until there was acknowledgement from the other end. "I'd say 'good morning,' but I suspect you know what's in this morning's paper."

" _If you're referring to the attack on Plum Street yesterday, sir, then yes, I'm aware_. _And if you hadn't beaten me to it, I was going to call you._ "

"Hmm." Eyeing the tiny print of the article through his glasses, Grumman rested a hand on the polished wooden surface, his fingers drumming absently. "And are you also aware that there is a strong media opinion that my granddaughter may be charged with assault sometime in the next day or so?"

Roy at least had the good grace to sound shamefaced. "… _Yes, sir. I'm… I was there. If it's any consolation, she_ was _provoked._ "

"I didn't think she wouldn't be. Seeing as I suspect you two spent the night in each other's company, it shouldn't be too much trouble for you to put her on the phone, should it." He was trying hard for the tone of a firm, parental disciplinarian, but not having had that much luck with parenting in the past, he knew he sounded more like the deeply irritated officer he was.

" _She's still asleep, sir._ " The barest hint of steel had entered the younger man's tone; standing up for his lady love when she wasn't awake to defend herself. " _There was a… a bit of a security breach last night, and we were both up late. It's my opinion she could use the rest_."

Quiet alarm bells had gone off in his head by the second sentence, and Grumman frowned deeply. "Explain."

There was the sound of a deep breath, and then an extremely tired-sounding, " _Sir, I hope like hell you're sitting down._ "

Within minutes, Grumman was very glad he was. He listened in nearly slack-jawed amazement and horror as Roy detailed the strange man's inexplicable entry, the bizarre attack, and the fast exit. His stomach churned in sympathy as it was made clear that his granddaughter — _my girl, my poor girl_ — had had some stranger's blood forced down her throat for some unknown and probably perverse reason, and had promptly vomited it back up.

Too shocked to feel angry, he ran a hand through his thinning hair as Roy finished, " _I left her sleeping about an hour ago, and if she's still out by nine-thirty, I'll wake her._ "

"That's fine. Being consultants on the case, you're not compelled to be at Headquarters at any regular hour. You can come and go as you wish." He blew out a sigh. "Have you considered having her checked out medically? To make sure there's no ill effect from… from the incident last night?"

" _I'll ask her about it, but I think she got rid of anything she swallowed._ " There was a pause. " _In the meantime, sir, would it be too much to ask that you not tell General Hakuro what happened? He's already looking for an excuse to throw us out, and I'd rather not give him the leverage to do so._ "

He smiled grimly, reaching out to fold the newspaper closed. "Hakuro may talk a big game, but I've made it clear to him that his power in this is strictly supervisory. Hiring and firing, so to speak, is my jurisdiction, not his."

" _Understood, sir_." Another pause. " _Was there anything else, sir? If not, I should call in to East City Headquarters and let them know we might be a while in getting there. I can say we're going over files here —_ "

"That won't be necessary." Grumman's eyes were on the article about the Angelini crime scene, specifically on the black and white photograph that showed both Colonel and Lieutenant. The dark-haired alchemist was on ground level, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he watched a sheet-covered gurney pass with its deadweight load. A man in a tweed blazer with a press pass tucked in his hat was approaching from behind, trying to look casual… but not escaping the sharp gaze of Hawkeye, who watched from the raised front steps of the house. Even in the grainy photograph, Grumman could see the shoulders raised in tension, the alertness in those brown eyes so like his daughter's…..

"… _Say again, sir?_ "

"You won't need to let Eastern HQ know that you'll be away for a while," Grumman said firmly. "As I told you, I hold the veto power for who handles this case." He took a deep breath, folding the pages of newsprint closed over the photograph. "I believe you have other commitments to concern you; Major Armstrong and the remainder of your staff will continue the investigation."

" _Sir, I—_ "

Grumman's voice dropped low, only for the ears of the man on the other end of the line. "Roy, this is not up for discussion. I'm making an executive decision here, and as a superior officer, the Führer-President, and a close friend, I expect it to be followed. Am I clear?"

A short silence, followed by an equally short sigh preceded the answer. " _Yes… Your Excellency, sir_." The use of the formal title was not lost on Grumman, but he chose to ignore it. " _Would it be too much to ask, however, exactly —_ "

* * *

"Why?"

She had settled into a chair at the table as he told the story, her gaze intent on his face. Roy stared back, sympathetic and with the last vestiges of his own annoyance stamped in those dark eyes. His fingers, resting on the side of his coffee mug as he spoke, began drumming random, absent-minded patterns.

"He gave a few reasons," he said, shrugging fatalistically. "The first was to distance you from whatever media attention any assault charges are going to get you, if that reporter — what's his name, Collins? — decides to file. The second was that the killer obviously has an interest in possibly both of us and definitely you, so Grumman's hoping that we can slip out quietly, without drawing attention to ourselves, and he won't be able to trail us." He lifted the mug to his lips, saying before he took a sip, "And the third was that we're needed elsewhere."

Riza knew frustration was still furrowing her brow, and she made no attempt to hide it. Folding her hands on the table, she studied her fingernails a moment, trying to calm the flare of irritation and anger that had sprung up in her chest. "When you say elsewhere," she began at last, "you mean —"

He nodded. "Ishval."

She closed her right hand into a fist, feeling the slight dig of her nails against the skin of her palm. It didn't hurt, per se, it was more like… pressure. Straightening the fingers again, she contemplated the crescent-shaped indents in her skin. _Calm… calm…._ "And who is going to take over the investigation here?"

Roy was watching her, dark eyes taking in every small movement. "Grumman didn't assign anyone; he told me to choose two replacements that I thought could handle it. I thought maybe Rebecca would be able, but we've partnered her with Havoc in the past and he's obviously out of commission." He tilted his head to one side, regarding her with new interest. "I'd like your thoughts on it as well. Maybe there's someone I'm overlooking?"

"Rebecca's a good choice; she complained about having to deal with the case, but she'll take it seriously if she's at the forefront of the East City investigations." Pausing, Riza ran carefully through a list of their mutual contacts, trying to come up with a name that might be a promising candidate.

Finally, she looked up. "General Armstrong has already done us one favour, by lending you Major Miles to help with the Ishval reconstruction," she said. "What are the odds she'd give you back Falman as well? Again, on a temporary basis. Until this little fiasco is over."

He was already nodding slowly. "I'd considered that. I don't know if she'll agree to it, especially since it means helping me when she doesn't absolutely have to… but it's certainly worth a shot." Tilting his mug to look into the depths, he frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe if we arranged for the credit for an arrest to go to Briggs instead of East City…."

She watched him fall into contemplative silence, waiting a moment before speaking. "Either way… we're being benched again."

Roy's eyes flicked up to meet hers, clearly gauging her mood before he answered. "…Yeah. We are." Tossing back the last of his coffee, he got to his feet and started toward the apartment's small kitchen. "I still keep turning it over in my head, trying to find a way that we could stay, or that we could work our way back onto the case… but I'm not coming up with much."

"You said Grumman called here nearly an hour ago?" She watched as he nodded, refilling his mug and taking a clean one from a cupboard for her. "Then he'll already have called Hakuro and told him to expect another investigative team. And _he'll_ be only too happy to avoid working with either you or I."

"Sometimes it's nice knowing a superior officer hates you and everything you stand for," Roy said mildly, starting back toward the table. "It makes every success feel that little bit better. Until things start working against you, and then it's just a nuisance." He set her cup in front of her. "I also briefly considered beginning a separate, private investigation on our own… but even with all our contacts and connections, I doubt we'd get very far."

She propped her chin in one hand, leaning over the cup to inhale the rich, savoury scent in appreciation. "That's assuming they would want to talk at all. Casella was nervous enough, thanks to what happened on the Promised Day; what's to say the others wouldn't be the same, especially if word has gotten out what I did to Collins."

"It has." Roy grinned half-heartedly. "But your newspaper photo was very nearly as pretty as the real you."

Riza couldn't stifle a return smile, but she managed to quash the urge to laugh. "Flattery won't clear me at court-martial, sir," she said dryly, reaching for her cup. She sipped, the smile fading. "Which, I'll be honest, is one of the better reasons Grumman gave for taking us off the investigation."

He looked at her curiously. "You want to run for it? Get out of town before the lawyers begin circling?" His tone was joking, but his eyes were not.

She shook her head. "I didn't mean it that way. What I did was… I don't think it was exactly _wrong_ , because I _did_ perceive him to be a threat. But I definitely didn't handle it in a way that was… professional, for lack of a better term. I overreacted." Thoughtful, she gently swirled the coffee in her mug, watching the way it splashed up the sides. "Before we leave for Ishval, I think I should take you up on the suggestion you made, about calling a meeting with Collins and whatever lawyer he might have hired. See if he'd be willing to let things go if I apologized."

Leaning forward, folding his arms on the table, Roy nodded. "At the very least, he won't be able to claim you didn't demonstrate remorse for it, or whatever the legal jargon for it is. Though I think it would also be a good idea to have a backup plan for if he doesn't decide to forgive you."

Smiling over the rim of her cup, she shrugged one shoulder. "I thought that was what the Ishval trip was for?" Taking another sip, she set the mug back on the table, cradling the warm ceramic in both hands. "That being said… how exactly are we supposed to get out there? Trains haven't run out that far in, what, six? Seven years?"

"Not since the end of the war," Roy agreed. One hand rose, rubbing unconsciously at the light growth of stubble just starting to darken his jawline. "The way I figure it, we can either take a train from here to Resembool and find a car charter that'll take us the rest of the way to Ishval… or else we drive ourselves in the car we got from Eastern HQ."

Her gaze was steady on the table top, though introspective as she mulled it over. "It's a day and a half by train from Resembool to the outskirts of Ishval. That's three days by car," she reminded him. When she looked up, she was smiling again. "And I seem to remember you saying you hate camping almost as much as you hate going to the dentist."

He levelled a finger at her, matching her smile. "I hate _military_ camps," he corrected, mock-severely. "But three days alone with you, sunshine during the day and stars at night?" Dropping his hand, he leaned forward. "I think I can handle that."

One blonde eyebrow quirked upward. "Is this a military expedition, or a romantic getaway?"

"Who's to say it can't be both?"

"Ah, efficiency. I like it." Leaning forward to meet him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting up and making her way back down the hallway, coffee cup still in one hand. "There's a lot of supplies and equipment to line up, if that's the case, not to mention I'll need to make some apologetic overtures toward Mr. Collins. I think it's high time I got started."

Roy's eyes followed her across the room, watching the way his shirt hung on that lithe frame, how the hem stopped at the right length to give some decent modesty, while at the same time showing enough leg to be enticing. He got up to follow her, his own pace leisurely and mug still in hand.

"Since we're already off the case and don't have any official business that's _absolutely_ pressing," he said, lifting his coffee for a too-casual-to-be-innocent sip, "then I think maybe I ought to reassure myself that you're as well as you seem to be."

He caught up to her in the bedroom doorway as she paused, looking back over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "I take it you mean a physical examination?" Her eyes wandered south along his body, then back to his face. "An… _intensive_ one at that?"

Reaching out with his free hand, Roy tugged lightly on the open shirt collar, ignoring the red scar line and two small, round marks either side of it. "Strip, shirt thief."

* * *

CITY OF JADAD, GUNJA REGION, ISHVAL

1103 A.M., APRIL 17

He didn't like to think of how long it had been since he walked the packed-sand streets of an Ishvalan city, since he had smelled the warm, earthy scent of brick houses baking under the sun in the cloudless sky above. Things were beginning to come back to him: his feet instinctively gripping the soles of the sandals and adjusting in mid-step to any grit that shifted underneath, he carried one arm tucked neatly against his ribs to keep his robe from flapping open in the light breeze, and he held his head high, with the proper bearing of a full warrior.

The man with no name breathed deep, smelling the familiar scents of home, and for the first time in far too long… felt as close to at peace as he had ever been.

It wasn't possible to relax fully, of course. All around him were the remains of crumbled buildings, chunks of stone and mortar, shattered wooden beams, and splintered doors. What houses had had small gardens were left with dried and withered weeds, slowly disintegrating into dust.

He paused at the end of the street as it opened into a plaza, taking a moment to study his surroundings. It was rocky, desolate, covered in dust and rubble… but underneath it all, he felt a pulse. There was a faint thrumming in the earth below his feet, and that minute vibration meant life. Life that would be breathed back into the city, the region, and the provinces beyond.

Ishval would live again. " _Inshbala'ah,_ " he murmured to himself. "God willing."

Turning down a street leading out of the plaza, he kept his head up, watching as signs of habitation began to appear. Here and there, a small house would be in a greater state of repair than its neighbours, or small children would be playing in a lot among the rocks and debris. They stopped to stare as he passed, and the unnamed man tugged the robe closer over his arms to hide the tattoos imprinted there.

He knew the children whispered after he was out of earshot. He didn't mind; he was a stranger, and a strange one at that. An Ishvalan that had chosen to mark his flesh with the symbols and sciences of Amestris and Xing was not precisely an outcast, but they _were_ viewed with curiosity… and more than a little suspicion.

He reached the large city administration building soon after, entering the cool, shaded interior that echoed back the murmured conversations of two or three groups in the atrium-like entryway. Scar turned left down a corridor, knowing the eyes of a trip of elders followed him as he went.

The small office-style space that had been given to himself and Miles was down another, smaller corridor and behind a door of simple wooden planks. It was devoid of most Amestrian-style furniture, furnished instead with a pair of low writing desks, a tiny kitchen alcove barely big enough for one person, woven cloth mats on the baked clay floor, and an array of plush cushions arranged in a conversational circle.

Looking up from behind one desk as the door opened, Miles paused in whatever he was writing to nod in greeting. "Welcome back. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Scar nodded, settling cross-legged behind the other table. "There's an unoccupied house in the southern district that should suffice. The damage is light, and easily repaired. And we were considering an outpost office in that area anyway, so that residents wouldn't have to trek all the way over here."

Miles nodded again. "Good. We can file a claim for it this afternoon." He pointed with his pen to a small, open envelope on Scar's desk before going back to his writing. "But it looks like we'll need to scope a second house for what's coming."

Frowning in puzzlement, the scarred man removed a single-folded piece of paper from the envelope, briefly skimming the telegraphed message. Neat type spelled out: _BY ORDER CENTRAL HQ: MUSTANG AND HAWKEYE INBOUND WILL ARRIVE IN THREE DAYS TO BEGIN WORK WITH RECONSTRUCTION AUTHORITY ADVISE ON ARRIVAL._

The frown didn't ease. "They're on their way already? Did they resolve their murder case so quickly?"

A quiet chuckle came from across the room. "Not so much. From the phone call that preceded that message — it's really just a formal notice, for our records — the investigation is being left to General Armstrong's younger brother and whatever staff of Mustang's isn't at Briggs or in a wheelchair. There was some kind of altercation, and both Colonel and Lieutenant were quietly ushered to the sidelines."

Scar looked up, his only other reaction a single raised eyebrow. "Altercation?" he repeated.

Miles smiled. "Apparently, the young lady punched a particularly aggressive reporter."

He gave no outward sign of surprise or other reaction, but Scar couldn't deny being impressed. He had known the Lieutenant was emotionally strong, certainly; her fortitude in talking Mustang down from the unreasoning rage he had harboured against Envy was proof enough of that. But she hadn't struck him as being particularly physically strong. Perhaps Amestrian hand-to-hand training wasn't quite as lax as he thought it to be.

"I suppose my next question ought to be how they think they'll be getting out here," he said at last. "We've talked about clearing the old train tracks, but there isn't a definitive plan."

"I imagine they're driving." Miles shrugged. "As for the tracks, the main problem is just getting them clear of sand once they leave the greener areas, and making sure they're still structurally sound. Once the military withdrew from Ishval following the conflict, they didn't spend too much effort to maintain them. It was no longer a priority."

He looked up at the warrior, red eyes flicking to the tattooing visible on the other man's arms. "There is, of course, an easier solution than manual labour. One that perhaps the rest of our people don't necessarily need to know about."

Scar was already shaking his head. "Our people are too proud and too traditional to allow it, or to accept the use of alchemy if it were done without consulting them. The general feeling around here is that we will rebuild from the ashes and rubble and take pride in the work… and that extends to reopening the railway."

Miles shrugged, going back to his documents. "It was a thought."

Searching briefly through several folded maps on the desk top, Scar selected the one he wanted and laid it flat on the weathered wooden surface. He took a thin charcoal stick, running one rough finger over the layout of the city until he found the building he was looking for. He marked it with an X, before locating the building's indicator number on a sheet filled with them and marking a second X next to it.

His eyes roved over the map again, over multiple black Xs marking inhabited locations or those slated for some purpose. Red ink slashed through even more former buildings, showing where there was simply too much structural damage for the building to be repaired.

The Ishvalan city wasn't laid out like an Amestrian one. Where those were laid out in an orderly fashion, with street names and numbers for each building, the desert city spread unevenly over the map page, its streets full of twists and turns, opening into plazas and culminating abruptly in dead ends. Wide avenues branched off into the narrower streets and thin alleys, like the web of some crazed spider… and yet there was order in the chaos.

The arid landscape held few rivers, but the streets of its cities functioned in the same way. Creeks fed into streams that fed into the river, and the river carried its flow — its people — to the major locations.

Scar marked a location less than a mile east from the city administration building, before noting the indicator number and getting back to his feet. "With the Colonel and Lieutenant on their way, they're going to need a place to stay once they get here," he said, straightening the robe. It had been so long since he'd worn one, his body had forgotten the practiced motions needed to keep the thing properly in place. "I think I know of one; I'm going to go check on it."

"I'll put the paperwork in motion, and fast track it through," Miles said, without looking up. He smiled wryly. "I've never done so much paperwork in my life, and I was the assistant to a General."

"Ishval was taken from us with fire and iron," Scar murmured, heading toward the door. "We're taking it back with paper."

Moments later, he stepped again from cool shade to warm sun, immediately feeling the baking heat settling over him. The loose folds of the robe helped to dissipate the warmth, but sweat still prickled on his back. It stung a little on his still-healing wounds, but he ignored the pain, letting it be a reminder of what he had faced and survived.

He had heard the tales, from his own people and from the female General's massively burly brother, of how Supreme Cleric Logue Lowe had faced Bradley man to man, similar to what he had done. But where the old priest had put forward the path of least resistance, Scar had presented as much as he possibly could, all in the name of saving the country that had committed genocide on his people. He supposed that of himself and Lowe, he had been the one to get off lucky in facing Bradley.

Convincing his people to help had been a monumental task. Had his old master not intervened on his behalf, Scar wasn't sure he would have convinced anyone at all. Actions had always spoken louder than words with him, especially after the war, because his mind would not marshal the words into a feasible argument. He was a fighter, not a politician, not a clan leader….

And yet, suddenly, he was something very close to that.

As he walked the streets of the half-ruined city, those he came across recognized him by the scar on his forehead. Men offered silent nods of acknowledgement, women smiled in greeting, children stared in wonder at the man of legend. The man who swore vengeance and forsook his name, who killed and then fought alongside alchemists and soldiers, who saved the country he had sworn to hate for eternity.

The attention left him uncomfortable, after so long spent in hiding.

He reached the house he had chosen for the two inbound soldiers, pausing before opening the door. Mustang and Hawkeye were a two-person team, to be sure, but he wondered if it were overstepping some boundary to put them up in the same house. Ishvalan warriors didn't separate themselves by gender, but the Amestrians were more prudish on the subject, no matter a person's skills.

He brushed away the thought; if there were a problem with them sharing accommodations, there were enough buildings in tolerable states of repair for Colonel and Lieutenant to have their space.

The interior of the house was relatively clean, the only signs of its long disuse being the layer of dust on every surface windswept sand on the dirt floors. Other than that, it appeared to be fully functional, if unfurnished. That was easily rectified; some of the first people to flock back to the city after the Battle of Central had been craftsmen and women skilled in the creation of household goods. They had been working ever since with the shipments Miles had arranged for from Amestris of fabric, cotton batting, wicker, wood, and tools.

Making a mental note to apply to the goods warehouse for at least the bare minimum in furnishings - seating, food preparation, a table, and two sleeping pallets - he turned his attention to examining the walls. A handful of pockmarks from bullets that would need to be plastered over, a couple cracks that needed the same treatment… but overall, they should find it at least liveable. The desert lifestyle didn't offer much in comfort, but made up for it in lack of complication. It would suit a more stoic outlook like Lieutenant Hawkeye, and he doubted the Colonel would have much trouble adjusting.

They were an interesting pair. Stark juxtaposition when standing next to each other — male and female, dark and fair-haired, tall and short, alchemist and non-alchemist, hot-headed and cool demeanour, vocal and quiet…. Yet even he, who had only dealt with them personally twice could see the almost effortless partnership. He had seen it when Hawkeye kicked her superior's feet out from under him to save him from Scar's attack, and again when Mustang stepped back from rage and vengeance, asking her forgiveness.

On his way out of the house, he paused in the doorway, looking around the small space. He had seen how the other side lived and worked. He had been in their cities, studied their infrastructure, watched their movements. He had been deep inside their world.

Now, they would come to his, not as enemies, but as allies. And Scar found himself looking forward to it.


	14. Conclave

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! What a nice, calm weekend, nothing really major going on. A nice movie night in with a close friend, gaming and writing today while chilling with the cat…. If next Monday weren't a holiday, I'd be starting to feel bummed about starting the work week again. At least this week, there's some sexy time Royza to keep us entertained. Usual other warnings apply.  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen - Conclave**

EASTERN COUNTRYSIDE, AMESTRIS

2143 HOURS, APRIL 19

There was something thrilling about it, this act of forbidden love taking place more or less in the open. All that hid them from prying eyes were the canvas-covered sides of the military truck and the fact that they hadn't seen another soul for hours. Though it was only approaching mid-spring, the air was already warming with the heat of the desert environment they were approaching, dry air lying on the landscape like light fabric.

Riza glanced back over her shoulder as the fabric flap covering the back of the truck waved lightly in the breeze, showing a brief glimpse of sparse grasslands, starry nighttime skies, and the small campfire they had left outside. A moment later, fingers touched her chin, turning her to face forward again.

"Hey." Roy's dark hair seemed to blend into the bedroll underneath him, but his eyes were bright in the shadows. "It's okay; if we'd been followed, we would know by now. Relax."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, turning to press a quick kiss to his fingers. "I know. No military running after us, no serial killer tracking us down, no reporters waving subpoenas…." Leaning down from her place settled comfortably on his hips, she kissed him again, this time on the lips.

"And if either of the latter two do happen to show their faces…." He grinned, lifting one hand from her thigh to snap ungloved fingers. "Then I think it's my turn to handle them."

As he had no doubt intended, that drew a genuine smile. "And wouldn't that be a sight," she countered, her eyes wandering south along his bare chest. "A half-naked man shooting fire as journalists and mysterious murderers alike cower in fear? My hero."

"Someone ought to paint that." He returned his hand to her, slipping it under the hem of the blouse he had pulled from its place tucked into the waistband of her rucked up skirt. "I'll hang it on the wall of the Presidential office once I'm Führer. An office needs at least one bragging point, as a conversation starter."

She suppressed an anticipatory squirm as the back of his fingers ghosted over her ribcage. "And yet," she pointed out, "your current office is noticeably devoid of bragging points. Care to explain, sir?"

She was fully aware she was doing it: the high-quality words, the use of an honourific, the way she shifted minutely to let his hand slip to her back… Riza Hawkeye knew all too well how to mix teasing and accommodation to rile Roy Mustang, and from the way his eyes locked on to hers, she also knew she had succeeded once again.

"Damn, you're good," he muttered, the words a low growl in his throat. The hand on her back pulled, drawing her closer, down against his chest, and Riza met the rough kiss with equal fervour. Keeping one hand braced on the floor beside his head, she touched the other one to the side of his face, feeling the way the muscles moved subtly as the kiss deepened, subsided, deepened….

From her seat, she could feel him begin to respond, and shifted her hips in answer. He grinned against her lips, his free hand diving beneath the folded fabric of her skirt to skate teasingly up the outside of her leg to her hip. Curious fingers briefly explored the line of her panties before slipping beneath to press flush against her skin. His thumb pressed into the hollow where the hip joined abdomen to leg, and Riza rewarded him with a sharp inhale through her nose.

She had to lift herself to reach, her hand leaving the side of his face to undo his belt. A moment later, she abandoned the kiss to focus on undoing the button and fly beneath. She was aware, from the corner of her eye, of him watching her before he tilted his head to the side to watch the movement of his hand under her clothes as it slid from her hip to her backside.

His attention, however, snapped back to her as she pulled away, his mouth opening to ask what she was doing… but he paused at the sight if the mischievous spark in her smile. Bracing herself by way of both knees on the floor, Riza got a grip with both hands on the waistband of both pants and boxers. She waited for a pair of heartbeats, watching as the realization dawned on him what she was about to do… and then pulled. Hard.

Roy's surprise was evident in his raised eyebrows when his clothes ended up nearly to his knees, dark eyes following her as she moved back closer. "I don't remember you being to do that before," he commented, hands going instinctively to her hips to help her balance as she resettled herself. "I mean, you've tried, I know, but it never wo–"

The word disappeared into a faint, open-mouthed gasp as she brushed against him, sending his hands tightening involuntarily. Riza lifted her hips away from him again, watching with a not-quite-smug smile as he recovered himself. His self-control dissolved into another sharp breath as she reached down, her fingers almost stealthy as they wrapped around his length.

"Then I suppose it's a good thing it _did_ work," she murmured, her voice low and even. She bent close, making sure she had the full attention of those dark eyes. "I'm getting tired of waiting… Roy."

She had expected his hurry to get rid of the panties impeding their progress, but not the method. Roy's dangerous grin was her only warning, before her skirt flipped up in back, his hands clapped once, and then pressed to the soft cotton. In another instant, the fabric just… disintegrated.

He pulled the shredded remains of the garment from her, holding them up as though for inspection. "Fast enough for you?"

Riza didn't answer, merely shifted her position, let go, and gave him entrance.

The first thrust dropped her head to his chest, her fingers clenching on his shoulders. Roy's breath came out in a shudder in her hair, one hand keeping her close on her lower back, the other protectively on the nape of her neck. The second drew a moan that forced her mouth open, her lips growing salty as sweat began to gather in the warm night. After the third, she felt his body flex, his arms tightening as he held her to him and sat up.

Both his hands went to her hips, tugging her closer with each thrust, hers rising to tangle in his hair. The kisses in between were rough and undisciplined, before he turned his attention elsewhere. One hand lifted from her waist long enough to free the first three blouse buttons from their holes, opening the path for his lips.

Riza's head tilted back, letting the sensations wash over her and carry her along. Her fingers tightened as he kissed a slow, tortuous path from the hollow of her throat down the centre of her chest before veering left to the gentle curve of a breast. The same hand as before freed itself, making no attempt at preamble but pulling aside the fabric of shirt and bra to grant him access.

She barely heard the low hum in her throat or felt the convulsive grip of her fingers as a wet tongue dragged itself over the nipple. She wasn't entirely aware of the way she pressed herself further onto him… but he was.

"Oh… so she likes attention paid to things other than her legs," he murmured, his voice husky from his own arousal, and the grin evident in his tone. Roy lifted his head enough to meet her wide eyes, his half-closed in pleasure. "Makes me wonder what you'd do if I –" His finger flicked, brushing over the damp patch, and Riza's eyes closed. "– did it again…."

She dropped her chin, their foreheads pressing together. "Do it."

Roy never had been one to deny her much.

Their tempo picked up, and in between moments of near-transcendence, Riza kept track of the myriad of signals his body gave. His breath came in pants, growing steadily more ragged in time with the tightening of his grasp on her hip and the transition of each thrust from measured to tightly controlled as he worked to draw out his stamina. Riza registered vaguely that her own breathing was still even, although her skin glistened with sweat and every inch of her tingled with want.

When she came, it was almost without warning. Roy appeared to catch the barest hint of her body going slack for an instant, and dropped flat to his back again. The motion pushed him farther inside at the crucial moment, and Riza felt something like the shockwave of a detonation explode outward from somewhere near her solar plexus.

She had time for the shortest of glimpses of his face – sweat running into dark eyes that were wide with victory and a predatory grin that showed his own desire – before her back arched, and she screamed her orgasm to the canvas covering of the truck bed.

He was right behind her, the sudden buck of his hips nearly throwing her off-balance into one of the wooden supply crates; she looked down in time to see his head thrown back as hers had been, the line of his jaw tight with clenched teeth, and a streak of colourful curse words being directed toward the truck cab.

Feeling her muscles go slack, dropping her into the warm, soft grasp of the afterglow, Riza eased him from her before stretching out alongside him on the bedroll. Shaking her bangs from her eyes, she didn't try to smother a smile at the way his gaze was still fixed on the canvas 'ceiling.'

One finger reached out to trail over his cheekbone. "What's this look?"

Lolling his head in her direction, he gave her a grin that was still halfway punchdrunk with pleasure. "The one that says I've been screwed halfway senseless, I think." Rolling onto his side, he paused a moment to hike his pants back up, leaving them undone around his hips.

Riza allowed herself to be tugged close against his chest, breathing in the smell of him… and was struck by a memory. A memory at least ten years old, of a fifteen-year-old boy that had stayed in her father's house, walking with her on the road to town in the summer heat with one arm around her shoulders in comradely fashion. Here, in the warm evening, his arm around her with the smell of ink-covered paper, light sweat, and _him_ ….

He was watching when her head came up, and those dark eyes had no trouble reading the expression in hers. His eyebrows lifted. "…You can't _possibly_ be game to go again. It hasn't even been two minutes yet."

She shrugged one shoulder, though the usually sheepish gesture was entirely unabashed. "I can't explain it, I just feel what I feel. I don't think there's any controlling that."

Roy rolled his eyes good-naturedly before extricating himself and getting to his feet. One hand reached out to her. "Come on, up you get."

Feeling slightly puzzled — this was not the reaction she had been expecting — she accepted the hand up. No sooner had she gained her feet than she was backed gently against the stacks of supply crates to one side. Pleasantly surprised, she watched that familiar trickster's grin expose his teeth, his left hand snaking from her hip down her leg.

"Better hang on to something," he murmured, pressing close against her, ducking his head so that the words ghosted over her ear in a rush of warm breath. Riza wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, knowing they would tighten before long, and buried her nose against his shoulder.

 _Paper… sweat…_ him.

The lowering hand was joined by the other, the pair of them beginning the teasing, inexorable raise of her skirt. His lips brushed against the curve of her ear as he said, "I'm definitely not complaining… but it _does_ strike me as odd that you'd choose to travel in anything other than pants…."

Her laugh was low in her throat, more a stuttered exhale than anything. "When all I'm required to do is sit in the cab of a truck for hours on end? I didn't think you'd mind having scenery other than the landscape to look at…."

"You would dare distract the driver?"

"I would also rather not be cooked alive by the warmth during the daytime." She squirmed slightly with anticipation as his fingertips brushed the inside of her thigh. "I don't know if you noticed, but the truck cab gets really — _oh_ …."

She heard the soft clap in the middle of her sentence, the words breaking off into a gasp as a tingling cold fire shot up through her core as he let the alchemy run free. Riza's arms tightened around his neck, lifting herself half an inch higher, even as his fingers delivered a teasing stroke that drew a low, near-desperate moan from deep in her throat.

"You said you wanted more," he reminded her, his voice deep and soft in her ear. If she hadn't been holding on to him so tightly, she had no doubt her knees would have given way and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. Her nose still nestled against his shoulder, she hummed in pleased satisfaction at a second, agonizingly slow stroke of his fingertips. His laugh was quiet, showing that he knew exactly what to do to get a reaction. "How about you make that sound for me again, love?"

When she opened her mouth, she fully intended to give him what he asked for. Instead, almost on instinct, she closed her teeth around the top of his shoulder. Not forcefully, not enough to penetrate the fabric of his shirt, let alone his skin; just enough to evidence her pleasure and deny him his request.

He started to say something else, then abruptly froze. His head came up, turning toward the canvas flap over the rear of the truck, listening. Her mind still swirling in a fog of desire and love chemicals, Riza used the respite to take a deep breath, leaning back against the crates. She almost groaned aloud when Roy's hands dropped from beneath her skirt and he gently extricated himself from her arms.

"Wait here," he murmured, touching a steadying hand to her shoulder before starting for the flap. She watched him do up his pants, the motions almost automatic as he focussed instead on whatever he had heard outside… and then she was hearing it, too. A sound like stuttered thunder came from out on the plains surrounding their little encampment, drawing slowly closer.

Roy stuck his head out just quickly enough to spot the approaching group, then spoke over his shoulder. "My gloves are in the front; I think I know who our visitors are, but just in case I'm wrong…."

"Got it." She watched him pass through the canvas and drop to the sandy soil before wrenching her mind away from thoughts of their little tryst and back to business. Working quickly, she adjusted her skirt and blouse back into proper position, and ran a pair of quick hands through her hair to make sure it wasn't in disarray. She was just packing up the bedroll they had spread out when the hooves of the approaching horses drew to a stop outside the vehicle, voices taking their place. She stowed the bedroll by the crates and after a quick check that she wouldn't be visible to their visitors, slipped through the narrow gap in the partition between the cab and the truck bed.

It was the work of another ten seconds to snatch Roy's gloves and tuck them into the waistband of her skirt at the small of her back — she didn't know when women's clothing designers would add pockets to skirts, but she hoped it was soon — before opening the driver's side door and slipping out into the gathering night.

The men assembled turned to look in her direction as she closed the door behind her; Riza could only recognize a few. Roy stood with his hands resting casually on his hips, talking to Scar and Miles. Both men had dismounted and were holding the reins of their horses, their postures relaxed and unthreatening. Three other Ishvalan men remained in their saddles, alternating between watching their leaders conversing with the Amestrian stranger and studying the blonde woman who had suddenly appeared. Riza glanced once in their direction before crossing to join the discussion.

Miles offered her a small smile as she reached them. "Ah, Lieutenant. I was wondering where you might have gotten to. I hope your journey thus far has gone well."

"Pleasantly uneventful, sir," she answered, offering a brief salute. Just because neither he nor she was currently in uniform didn't negate the fact that he still outranked her. "At least compared to the few days we spent in East City."

"So we heard," Scar put in. The look he gave her was appraising, as though he were mentally reconciling the stories he had heard with the woman in front of him. "Word travels fast even out here."

Riza was spared the embarrassment of having to discuss the matter further by Roy's intervention. "Then you should also know that we've left the East City investigation in the hands of Major Armstrong and the rest of my staff. We were given the green light to take the first steps to changing the Ishvalan policies and rebuilding the region." He nodded toward the truck. "We brought enough with us to at least set up an outpost, and we can requisition more supplies as we need them."

Passing the reins of his horse to Miles, Scar stepped forward to push the canvas aside, peering into the truck's dim interior. Riza caught Roy's glance sliding in her direction, his expression a silent question - _Evidence_? She gave the smallest possible shake of her head. _None_.

"Impressive," the warrior remarked. "For having limited planning time, it's well put together."

"Thanks." Roy glanced from Scar to Miles. "Forgive my curiosity, but… we're still a day's travel from Jadad. What brings you out this far?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Miles shrugged. "When we heard you were on your way, we came to meet you, and to give you a crash course in culture before you got into public view in the city."

"Adherence to tradition is stricter here than in the cities and slums of Amestris," Scar elaborated, rejoining them. "There, they don't practice the old ways as much, to avoid persecution. But here…. This is our holy land and our home. Here, the traditions are strong."

He indicated the three men travelling with them. "These are the foremost clan leaders from the Gunja, Daliha, and Kanda regions. Each province has its own needs and requirements for the rebuilding effort, and we thought it would be best for you to get to know the clan leaders before we are in a place to really get down into the details."

"Makes sense." Roy's eyes flitted in her direction again, before his head tilted slightly to where their campfire had guttered low over the last hour or so. Riza acknowledged with a wordless nod before stepping away from the group.

She listened without watching as she stirred the fire coals back to life, adding a few fresh pieces of wood from the supply they had brought with them. With the faint sheen of sweat from earlier and Roy not close enough to warm her, she was beginning to feel the cool night air, but where the afterglow would normally have her feeling drowsy, she instead felt… _alive_.

Kneeling comfortably on the soft prairie grass, her feet tucked under her and her hands folded neatly in her lap, she watched as the three clan leaders bowed to Roy, and as he returned the gesture with his expression a perfect solemn mask. He said something she didn't quite catch to Scar, who apparently translated to the other three, and the group moved in her direction.

The clan leaders approached her one by one, each pressing his palms together and murmuring a single word in Ishvalan as he bowed, hands rising to forehead level. Riza returned to gesture, the brief instruction she had received from the scant information available in Amestrian source books reminding her that there was a happy medium to be found between too low of a bow and not low enough…. Regardless, that little hurdle overcome, the men settled down around the fire.

Miles was the first to speak. "Lieutenant, I'd like to present Leader Dharva, from Gunja province, Leader Mharyys from Daliha, and Leader Kalsban from Kanda. Would you prefer them to know your full name, or just your rank and surname?"

"Since we'll be working so closely, I can't see how it would hurt to use my full name," she answered, careful to keep her tone professional and polite. Roy nodded agreement.

Scar took over, speaking to the men in the Ishvalan language. Riza hadn't had much cause to hear it, since snipers had a tendency to hang back in battle groups that went head-to-head with an opponent, but she had always enjoyed the almost musical lilt to the words. That sound, coming from a rough, craggy face like Scar's, provided an interesting juxtaposition. They were mixed with the blunt Amestrian syllables of 'Colonel Roy Mustang' and 'First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.'

Surprise overtook the clan leaders, along with murmurs of reaction. Dharva said something in reply to Scar, and the big man turned to look in her direction. "He's apologizing. They didn't realize you were a soldier as well." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth for the space of an instant. "He said they thought the Colonel had decided to bring his wife with him."

Someone else in the same situation might have gotten flustered, or at the very least, blushed. Roy, however, smiled easily, and shook his head. "We've been known to argue like we are, but the Lieutenant and I aren't married," he explained. "She's my assistant and my bodyguard, and we've worked closely for several years."

Upon the translation, all three clan leaders laughed at the joke, nodding their understanding. Across the fire, Riza caught the slow lowering of Miles' shoulders as he breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief. He glanced up, catching her eye, and nodded approval; getting to a comfortable level with the clan leaders had apparently been a point of concern for him.

When the laughter and murmuring had subsided, Roy resettled himself in a businesslike fashion. "I'll lay out how I'd like things to go," he said, speaking unhurriedly so that Scar could provide a running translation. "If at any time you have questions, concerns, or a different idea, just let me know. Fair?" A round of nods followed the end of the Ishvalan words.

She was aware if the deep breath he took only through knowing him so well. "We stand at the beginning of new understanding between two peoples," Roy began. "The Amestrian leadership is willing to acknowledge where we went wrong, and explain how, under the previous administration, things became as bad as they did. We want to make amends and reparations for the atrocities committed against your people. Part of the purpose of our trip is to lay the groundwork for a treaty or an accord that will fully commit Amestris to this cause."

He indicated Riza with a tilt of his head. "Lieutenant Hawkeye has full working knowledge of the Amestrian military Administration system, and can draw up any such document to the satisfaction of all."

Leader Mharyys held up a hand, forestalling further comment. Scar provided the translation of the melodic words that followed. "We look forward to working with a reformed Amestrian government, especially since it appears King Bradley has been permanently removed from power. However, Colonel, I cannot help but think that whatever accord we come to while you and your assistant are here will receive negative reaction from your countrymen."

Nodding in agreement, Leader Dharva added, "Not all Amestrians view the Ishvalan people in the same warm light as you, Colonel."

Roy's tone turned firm, but not angry. "It maybe be a bitter pill for some to swallow," he admitted. "But I would sooner see my country acknowledge its mistakes and pay for them than continue on merrily as though nothing had happened." He made direct eye contact with each leader. "A body of people follow their leader. If the leader makes bad decisions, the people are dragged into the consequences. But if the leader makes good decisions, the people will thrive."

Leader Kalsban broke into a large grin, and spoke rapidly. Even unfamiliar as she was with the language, Riza caught the distinct rhythm and matching sounds of a rhyme.

"He quoted an old proverb," Scar explained. "It loses a little something in translation, but the gist of it is, 'If a shepherd leads his sheep into the desert, they will drink only dust. But if he leads them to the river, the water will sustain them."

Roy smiled. "I bow to the wisdom of your elders, then."

"Best you actually do it, then." Miles murmured. "We're a very literal people. Very 'do what you say and say what you mean,' if you get my drift."

"Fair enough." So saying, Roy pressed both hands to the scrubby grass, bending until his forehead nearly touched them, and held the pose for a brief moment before straightening. Riza watched the expression of the leaders as he did so, seeing the pleased and even slightly impressed expressions cross their faces. In his humility, she felt pride for him.

Leader Dharva was not long in beginning the dialogue again. "We are very open to any ideas Amestris may have for helping us to rebuild," the translation went. "However, there is one small stipulation we feel we must request." He raised one arm, gesturing the the expanse of flatland fading away into the eastern distance. "Ours is a holy land, Colonel, dedicated to Ishvala and our preservation of his name and worship. We realize it is not your religion, whatever that may be, but we will require all those who live and work in the region during its reconstruction to be formally consecrated by a priest of Ishvala."

Quick to accurately judge the surprised look that passed between Colonel and Lieutenant, Leader Kalsban added, "Please do not be alarmed. We do not ask that you fully commit to the religion. It is not consecration in the way that you are inducted into a religious sect. It is…." He faltered, searching for the right description, and Scar paused in the translation until Kalsban continued. "It is as it was with one of the older religions of your country, that has since become obscure, I think. Where a new building or marriage would be blessed by a priest to gain God's favour in work or life."

She watched him allow the understanding to show on his face, before he smiled pleasantly and nodded. "Whatever you see fit is what we are here to do," he answered. "If Ishval is ever to be remade again in the image of your God, we will do whatever we need to."

Joyful exclamations and clapping met this comment, once translated, and the three leaders got to their feet. Before either Roy or Riza could do the same, each had one of the men crouching in front of them. Leader Mharyys took Riza's face in both hands, pressing a whiskery kiss to the centre of her forehead. The process was repeated with Leader Dharva, and finally, Leader Kalsban.

Scar was watching with a small smile when the display was over. "They accept you," he said simply. "You will be consecrated when we reach Jadad tomorrow; it must be done inside a temple. Blessings given in the field are for victims of war or the very poor."

When he glanced over toward her, Riza saw her own thoughts mirrored in Roy's dark eyes.

 _We've almost made_ _it…._

* * *

EAST CITY

2220 HOURS, APRIL 19

Standing hidden in the dark shadows on the roof, the man leaned back against the tall brick column of a chimney, his eyes closed in both concentration and pleasure. The mix of thoughts swirling through the Lieutenant's mind, even at the distance separating them, were a heady brew. Vague, imagined sensations ghosted over him, the feeling of hands, the softer touch of a mouth….

He grinned. Mustang would more than mortified if he knew the touches he left on his Lieutenant's skin were being broadcast to another mind hundreds of miles distant.

That being said, it wasn't as though he had a private phone line to the Lieutenant's mind. During the day, her connection still waned, her growing powers and his own weakened by the sun. But the nights…. Oh, the nights were better. Like radio airwaves clearing as the moon rose, her thoughts came less vaguely, and the impressions were clearer.

All at once, the lascivious little sensations stopped, and Hawkeye's sense took on an alertness… and then purpose.

The man frowned, attempting to narrow his focus… and felt the impression blur and diffuse, as though through frosted glass. A brief flash of recognition, another of calm camaraderie fading into polite professionalism…. After that, he could glean nothing else useful.

Or could he? That second-to-last feeling, the one of recognized friendship…. Who would she have those feelings toward so deep in the East? The quick answer was the Elric brothers, which did make a certain amount of sense. The boys would no doubt have, at the very least, a passing interest in going to Ishval… but they had likely only just arrived home themselves. They would be too preoccupied with catching up with their childhood friend, the pretty blonde automail mechanic, to even think of flitting off again for adventure.

Besides which, hadn't the younger Elric been severely malnourished when the man had seen him in hospital? Travelling home would be an ordeal in itself, let alone Ishval. So no, the person or persons that Lieutenant Hawkeye's mind had recognized as friendly…. It had to be someone else.

Tilting his head back, gazing up at the half-moon gleaming softly like an opal on black velvet, the man smiled, knowing the same moon was watching over the Lieutenant no matter how far away she was. "What friend have you found, little bird?" he murmured, feeling the now familiar presence still swaying and swirling at the edge of his mind. He felt it foremost in his left temple. Facing south as he currently was, it made sense; it was something like a mostly indirect compass, telling him which direction she lay in, but not how far. Distance didn't matter.

Or rather, it mattered very little. His expression turning thoughtful, the man kept his gaze on the moon. Suppose he were to go after her. He had no reason not to, really; there wasn't anything tying him to this city. The question of transport was something else entirely, though. Had the railway to the Ishvalan regions not decayed without use, he could have easily climbed aboard the next train heading in that direction, but now he faced the same overland journey the Lieutenant had.

Sustenance would prove the most difficult part. Without a reliable source of human blood, he would have to take things slow and conserve his powers and energy. No travelling in his stretched-out form to cover the distance more quickly, since it would only drain him more quickly. He would need to go the old-fashioned —

A new thought stopped him in his mental tracks, with the realization that perhaps he _could_ achieve faster travel… if he took along provisions. With his new stealthy abilities, stealing what he would need would be the work of a single night, and easy work at that.

A tent to protect him from the sunlight during the day, allowing him to rest up, an insulated container and dry ice to carry what he needed… and the stores at the East City Military Hospital would have all the easily-transportable blood he could ask for.

A large, predatory grin stealing across his face, the man turned his gaze from the moon and slipped off deeper into the city shadows. There were preparations to make, a journey to undertake… and then the Lieutenant would be within reach once again.


	15. Pomp and Circumstance

_A/N: Happy… well, Monday, everyone. Sorry - it's a long weekend up here in Canada, and between that and being busy, I lost track of my update schedule. Only a day late, though! Thanks for waiting.  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen - Pomp and Circumstance**

OUTSIDE JADAD, ISHVAL

1042 HOURS, APRIL 21

The city walls seemed to rise seamlessly out of the desert itself, the rocky ground giving birth to the crumbling bricks as they climbed toward the sky. Here and there were craters in the structure where Amestrian attacks had left their marks on the city defenses. Whole other sections were gaps with floors of rubble, offering glimpses into the city beyond… and all of it made Roy's stomach churn.

Taking a deep breath against the sudden, guilt-ridden nausea, he resettled his hands on the steering wheel and fixed his gaze on the city's main gates just ahead. Maybe it wasn't guilt unsettling his stomach; they were about to come face to face with the decidedly monumental task of helping an entire people rebuild lives that had been shattered years beforehand. _Nerves,_ he told himself. _It's just nerves._

And yet he knew he was lying to himself.

Miles' horse pulled up beside the open driver's side window, the man riding it looking more relaxed than Roy had ever seen him be up north at Briggs. He no longer wore darkly-tinted snow goggles to hide his red eyes, his tanned skin seeming to glow in the warm sun of the spring solstice.

"There's an open plaza about a quarter of a mile straight in from the gates," he called, over the noise of the truck's engine. "We'll have to pass through one of the main arterial streets to get there. You're going to be stared at."

"We're pretty used to that," Roy answered, doing his level best to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "And truth be told, I half expected it. We don't exactly blend in, even in these clothes." He tugged at the front of the loose, light cotton tunic Scar had presented him with at the Armstrong mansion, simultaneously indicating the calf-length, wide-sleeved dress Riza was wearing with a tilt of his head. Both of them had the traditional striped sashes belted around their waists, as they had been shown, as well as comfortable cotton pants and sandals.

Roy wasn't sure of the last time he'd worn anything on his feet that required them to be bare, but it made for an interesting and welcome change. Riza, used to going barefoot in the confines of her apartment, had left her sandals in the footwell of the passenger seat, absentmindedly wiggling her toes in the warm air as she watched the landscape pass outside.

Miles granted him a smile for the comment. "True enough. Shift down to first gear; the clan leaders will ride in front as we enter the city, and Scar and I will provide a rearguard." He shrugged. "Not that there's anything to guard against; no one here will try anything if you're travelling with the clan leaders."

He reined his horse in, dropping back alongside the truck as it rolled forward, leaving the two Amestrians alone once again. Roy glanced over in time to see Riza's eyes go toward the glove compartment in front of her….

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly, half a warning in his tone. "We won't need it."

"I know we won't." Her voice was just as quiet, and nearly flat with self-imposed calm. "I wasn't even going to reach for it. I just feel better reminding myself that it's there." Those brown eyes rose to his, with a slight smile. "I know the rules: no gun, no gloves, no problem."

They lapsed into silence as the huge wall grew nearer. The three horses of the clan leaders cantered ahead, Leader Mharyys turning in the saddle to motion them to follow. Roy downshifted to keep from overrunning the three men, and the little convoy fell into a more sedate pace. A glance in the side mirrors showed Scar and Miles keeping easy pace to either side.

It wasn't like a triumphal return to the city as part of a military caravan. There was no musical fanfare from brassy trumpets, no ticker tape, no confetti raining down from buildings or thrown by a cheering public. No drums to keep marchers in time, no cries of slogans or the names of public heroes….

Instead, the shouting voices were those of the clan leaders, calling what Roy could only assume was 'Clear the way!' in the Ishvalan tongue. People walking the dusty laid-stone avenue glanced over their shoulders and moved unconcernedly out of the way of both horses and truck. Wide-eyed children clung to their mothers' skirts or their fathers' hands, although more than one tried reaching out curiously toward the passing horses before being tugged back.

He was aware, uncomfortably, of the surprise in people's faces when they caught sight of either him or Riza. Red eyes found the pale skin first, then went to either his dark hair or the blonde strands just visible under the loosely wrapped head scarf Scar had helped Riza put on that morning. As the truck continued down the straight street to the open space of the plaza at its end, Roy glanced in the side mirrors in time to see surprised citizens begin whispering to their neighbours.

It took nearly ten minutes for the little convoy to inch their way along the street into the open space of the plaza beyond. When they did, he barely heard Riza's soft gasp over the sound of his own.

He had originally thought that the carved façade of the building in front of them had been one of several lining the circular space. It became apparent as they entered that it was one building that encircled the entire plaza. A covered colonnade in front shaded stone benches and large pots housing colourful desert flowers. A single archway directly opposite the plaza's main entrance stood two stories high, giving entrance to the shadowed interior while smaller arches in the recesses of the colonnade granted pedestrian and cart traffic access to the rest of the city.

"I don't recognize this place from the war," Riza murmured, her tone full of awe. "It looks like it was hardly touched at all…."

"Most of the fighting in Jadad was done on the south and east sides of the city," Roy answered, his voice hushed. Shaking himself back to reality, he followed where the clan leaders were directing him to, pulling the truck to a stop outside the tall archway. "Could be that none of it reached this far, though it'd be nothing short of a miracle if that's the case."

He waited a moment while Riza slipped her feet into her sandals, and both of them descended from the cab. The moment he opened the door, the heat hit Roy like a wall. He half-tensed, expecting sweat to spring up instantly on his skin and start causing his clothes to cling… and relaxed. Yes, it was hot, but even the faintest breeze wove through the light fabric, cooling him.

The cobblestones underfoot were swept with sand, his footsteps making gritting sounds as he moved around the front of the truck. Riza joined him, brushing travel wrinkles from her dress while quick brown eyes took in the curious onlookers beginning to filter into the plaza, following the strange military vehicle that had entered their city.

"Pretty obvious we can't go farther in the truck from here," Roy said quietly, watching the clan leaders dismount. "But this feels like we're being led to a meeting. I wonder who they're waiting for?"

"I don't know, sir," was the soft answer. "But I would expect it to have both political and cultural significance. Play it carefully."

Scar and Miles joined them moments later, and with a few murmured directions, the group started through the colonnade and arch into the cool, dry-aired interior of the massive building. Miles spoke in a low voice as they went.

"This is your formal welcome to Ishval, one that will assure the people you come in good faith, of free will, and not for any purpose against the Ishvalan people," he explained. "If you were one of us, it wouldn't be necessary outside your own family circle, but outsiders…." He smiled wryly. "Well, our religion calls for a little showmanship in expressing hospitality to foreign guests."

Roy opened his mouth to ask just what Miles meant… but thought better of it and closed it again. He was liable only to get a cryptic 'you'll see' or 'wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, sir' if he asked; better just to sit back and let the surprise happen. Not exactly his strong suit, but he could handle it for the sake of diplomacy.

When they emerged from the passage into a sunlit inner courtyard, Roy was no longer concerned with holding his tongue. He lost the power of speech entirely.

Like the plaza outside, the room was circular, rising four stories into the air and topped with a deceptively delicate-looking dome of glass panes divided by shining steel ribs. Sheets of white cloth hung suspended between what Roy could only assume were retractable rods that would spread to eliminate glare and heat during the hottest parts of the day.

And the _books_. Of the four stories of this immense library, each floor was lined in an orderly fashion with shelves – tucked underneath overhangs that would protect them from the sun – that led away to the borders of the vast room. The shelves were not filled, not by any stretch of the imagination, but every one held at least one book or collection of scrolls, or some old artifact. Roy stopped in the doorway, one hand moving to rest on his hip, the other covering his mouth and clamping firmly to his chin to keep his jaw from dropping.

Behind him, he heard Riza breathe a pair of words that might have been awed and amazed had he actually been able to hear what she said.

"I'm glad to see you're impressed with our collection, Colonel."

He tore his eyes away from the upper stories to the man standing in the centre of the room. Sets of four steps at a time divided three terraces set with study tables and chairs to a recessed platform at the bottom. Two semi-circular desks – probably for the resident librarians — had been moved away to the edges of the platform, leaving an open space scattered with broad, brightly-coloured cushions.

The man was tall and muscular, a dark moustache covering his upper lip. His sash wrapped around his waist and up over his shoulder, returning to drape over his arm as Scar's did. As they approached, the warrior priest stepped ahead a few feet to drop to one knee before the man.

"Master."

"Welcome home," the older man greeted him, his voice warm though his face remained neutral. "You have done well to guide our visitors here. Both you, and Miles."

Roy watched as Scar regained his feet and stepped aside, then stepped forward himself. As they had discussed, Riza stayed where she was, watchful and silent. They were a team, a package deal… but this was something they both knew he had to do alone. Stopping after the last step down to the platform, he was careful to keep his back and shoulders straight, and not to bow too deeply or not enough. Pronouncing the foreign greeting carefully, as Scar had instructed him, he spoke clearly.

"I bow to you."

The old warrior's face lit with a proud smile, and he stepped forward. "I bow to the godhead within," he responded in the traditional greeting, the light from overhead glinting off his bare scalp as he bowed. Roy couldn't help but feel relief that it had gone this smoothly. Scar's Master switched back to Amestrian to say, "Someone has taught you our words well, Colonel."

"Only because that person was also taught well," he said. "And I have reason now to believe you are responsible for that education."

"You would be correct." The Master glanced over to where his student was silently watching the display. "He continues to be an occasionally troublesome pupil, but he is one of the best I ever trained." His gaze turned to where Riza waited up on the next terrace, her hands folded behind her back. "I don't believe I know your associate, Colonel."

"Ah." Half-turning, Roy extended a hand; Riza took it as she stepped gracefully down the stone steps to the ground, letting go to draw herself into proper military posture by his left shoulder. "Allow me to introduce my adjutant and bodyguard, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye." He hesitated only briefly before adding, "A veteran of the civil war, like myself."

The good humour did not leave the Master's face, though a glint of appraisal did lend itself to the older man's eye. "A bodyguard? Impressive…."

Quick as lightning, his right hand rose, snaking toward the side of Roy's unprotected neck.

It made a flat _smack!_ sound as it landed in the palm of Riza's deflecting hand. Barely had it touched her before she wrenched on the attached arm, actually dragging the Master a half-step to the side. Dropping his arm, her right hand balled into a fist that cannoned toward his jaw. The Master, still looking mostly unfazed, kept his feet planted but swayed backward so that her punch hit nothing but air.

One large hand rose to gently cup her fist, pushing it down out of his face as he stood straight. "Well done, Lieutenant," he said, admiringly. "Whoever taught you to fight must have been a well-studied teacher to instruct such an apt pupil. Am I right in thinking they are… a boxer?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, not even slightly out of breath from the brief exchange though her eyes betrayed her irritation. "Though, if I may, if you wanted to test my abilities, there are more opportune times."

The pleased look in the Master's eyes dimmed somewhat as he grew serious once again. "It was not simply your abilities I meant to test," he explained soberly. "Word has reached us of what happened between you and the reporter in East City."

Roy looked over at her in time to see her gaze plummet to the floor, the faintest tinge of red appearing in her cheeks. Everything inside told him to jump in, to spare her having to account for her actions yet again… but he held his silence. It would gain him nothing with her to leap to her defense when she was capable of doing it herself, and to defend herself was something Riza _needed_ to do. Her first public declaration of her stance….

"My thinking has been… clouded, since the Promised Day," she said, cutting across Roy's thoughts. "As you may or may not know, I came very close to death that day, and something like that has certain repercussions even on the strongest of psyches. I saw what I thought to be a threat, and I'm sorry to say that I was wrong."

The Master regarded her with a thoughtful look for a moment longer, before breaking the brief silence. "I would be more concerned over the actions you took if you did not show remorse," he commented. "The proper skills are all well and good to have, but humility and self-awareness are ones that are difficult to teach and harder to learn. I'm glad to see that you possess both."

Turning aside, he motioned to the cushions scattered about the platform, strategically changing the subject. "And now, I believe it's time we got down to business. Please, all of you: be seated."

He waited until each of them occupied one of the large cushions, the three clan leaders arraying themselves behind Scar and Miles, before speaking further. "I decided it would be most fitting to receive you here, Colonel, in a place of knowledge. I'm given to understand that alchemy is a lifelong study, both through books and experimentation." He smiled. "I hoped you might find the atmosphere comfortable."

"It's certainly one of the better libraries I've seen," Roy admitted, his eyes involuntarily tracking upward once again. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "Let's hope that it inspires the reconstruction effort with all the knowledge and wisdom it needs to meet success."

"I have every confidence that it will." The Master's eyes drifted to something past Roy's shoulder, and one hand rose to make a beckoning motion. "Though if you might permit me one concession…."

Both soldiers looked back to find the crowd of Ishvalan citizens who had followed the truck to the library now filtering into the building and spreading along the sides of the room, some moving up flights of spiral stairs to the floors above.

"Our culture believes in momentous events being witnessed by the people," the Master explained. "Weddings, funerals, political meetings…. They tend to take place in open spaces, where the citizenry can watch as they please. It is our belief that it draws us closer together as a culture and a society." He hesitated briefly as he caught the look that passed between Colonel and Lieutenant. "…However, if it makes you uncomfortable…."

"Not in the slightest," Roy assured him. "We just hadn't expected it. Personally, I think it's a great idea."

What he didn't admit out loud was that he knew he and Riza had had the same thought about such a large crowd of onlookers. There were some in the city that were bound to remember both the civil war and Roy's place in it. Human memory ran deep, especially when a grievous wrong had been committed, and he fully expected that, at some point, an angry survivor of the genocide would confront them. And what better place to perpetrate an act of revenge on one of the most powerful State alchemists than when his back was turned and his guard was down, in front of clan leaders and general populace alike?

And yet, in her eyes, he had seen the same reluctant conclusion. Yes, their personal security was at risk in a position like this… but there was nothing for it now but to continue. To change the arrangements would be an insult to both the Master and Ishvalan cultural tradition. Roy would not risk alienating the people, not so soon. Not even for the sake of his own safety. Not when the stakes were this high.

A young, bareheaded man approached the platform, carrying a wooden tray in his hands. It had been lacquered repeatedly until the wood had a glossy shine to it, the light reflecting off it to glint against the teapot and and cups balanced on it. He knelt to one side of the space between the Master and Roy, who watched with deferent silence as tea was poured into the first pair of cups.

Roy watched for clues as to what he was supposed to do as the Master was presented with the first cup. He accepted it with both hands, then turned and passed it to Scar, who received it the same way. The second cup, following the same pattern, went to Miles.

At the same time, a second young man approached from the other side, his tray carrying a large, still-steaming loaf of hardy brown bread, the top of its crust sprinkled with the dark flecks of herbs. He knelt across from his partner, beginning to methodically divide the bread with his hands into rough, fist-sized chunks.

Roy brought his attention back to the first young man in time to accept the handle-less tea mug being passed to him. As he had seen the Master do, he turned and handed it to Riza. Her fingers were cool against his, in contrast to the warmth of the mug, but Roy didn't allow himself to dwell on the comfortable sensation of her touch. He faced forward once again, accepting his own cup and watching as the last one was served to the Master.

"We welcome our guests with food and drink!" the Master called out, raising his voice so that it echoed pleasantly off the curved walls of the library. "We welcome them to our lands, our homes, our tables, and our hearts, in the name of our God and in the spirit of his hospitality!" He raised his cup in his right hand; behind him, Miles saw Roy's start to do the same and shook his head minutely in warning. Roy quicked stayed the instinct. "May our dealings receive his blessing, as may we all."

Again, Miles made eye contact, this time his tiny gesture being a nod. Following the Master's example, Roy lifted the earthenware cup to his lips, trying not to let the sip he took appear cautious. The scent of green tea laced with some kind of flower wreathed around his face as he swallowed.

Following the Master's cue once more, he placed the now half-empty mug on the floor as the pieces of bread were distributed in the same way as the tea. The Master was served last, as before, though he did not raise his portion before speaking.

"In sharing tea and bread, we extend a solemn promise," he said, his tone and expression grave. "A guest who has received this hospitality will come to no harm from the Ishvalan people. It is our law. Only friends are invited to be shared with, not our foes, and there is no state between the two."

Roy watched closely, tearing his piece in two as the Master did, and taking a bite from the portion in his right hand. His head wanted to spin from the bombardment of ceremony and circumstance, but he forced his mind to stay on task. The bread was rough textured, as one might expect of a hardy desert diet, but smooth in flavour. The herbs on top lent it a savoury quality that would make it a perfect side to hot beef stew on a cold winter day….

 _No. On task_.

The party on the central platform stayed silent, the rest of their bread portions being consumed between sips of the fragrant tea. The crowd on the balconies was hushed in respect for the ceremony, somehow watching without making Roy feel too uncomfortable.

At last, the Master brushed bread crumbs from his hands, and stood. Miles motioned subtly for Roy to do the same, while he, Scar, and Riza stayed seated on their cushions. The Master stepped forward, his smile reserved but proud. "Colonel Roy Mustang, it is my deepest pleasure to welcome you and your aide to Ishval." He pressed his palms together, bowing as the clan leaders had done two days before, slipping into the Ishvalan tongue for the formal greeting, "I bow to you."

Careful to keep his own smile under rigid control, although it wanted to spread ear to ear in the excitement at this progress, Roy bowed solemnly to the older man, the reply flowing from his tongue more easily than it had ever done in his practice with Scar. "I bow to the godhead within."

Despite being in a library, cheers and roars of approval leapt from the crowd, echoing off the walls and glass ceiling. Traditional Ishvalan sashes were waved amid applause and the stamping of feet, the cacophony continuing as the Master moved to pull Riza to her feet, shaking her hand as well. Miles and Scar stood, both watching with small smiles and obvious pride.

Something swelled in Roy's chest, a combination of relief, excitement, and happiness that felt for a moment like it might constrict his breathing. He glanced over, seeing the same emotions reflected brightly in Riza's eyes, and wished more than anything that he could hold her. Could hug her tightly, bury his face in the soft fall of her hair, and have her whisper, "You did it," in his ear as she hugged him back.

Then again, he didn't have to hear her say it. He could see the words in the expression on her face.

* * *

CITY OF JADAD

1207 HOURS, APRIL 21

What followed the welcoming ceremony was something like an open reception. The crowd that had watched from the perimeter of the room gathered on the first floor, and those who had taken part in the ceremony were free to circulate through. Riza's right hand had been shaken so many times, she felt as though it had been pressed to half its usual thickness.

Roy had been in his element, his politician's streak peeking through his boyish façade as he smiled and shook hands through the endless barrage of introductions. Riza had followed behind him, her own smile polite and professional, but not unfriendly. Though she admitted to herself that she _was_ getting tired of hearing the phrase "my assistant, First Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Finally, after an hour, people began to trickle out, returning to their daily routines. It took another thirty minutes for only stragglers to remain, at which point, the Master gathered the core group together again, leading them outside into the midday sun. The truck was left where it was, the five of them turning to the left, toward one of the smaller archways leading out of the plaza and deeper into the city.

"I believe it was mentioned to you before you arrived that it is necessary you be consecrated by a priest of Ishvala," the Master commented, leading the way along the colonnade. "Is that agreeable to you, Colonel?"

He didn't hesitate in his answer. "We're here to do things in the Ishvalan tradition," he pointed out. "That shouldn't stop at reconstruction or the changing of government policies. Not even at a welcoming ceremony. We either observe all necessary traditions or none at all."

The Master's smile proved that to be the right answer. "I appreciate your willingness to be so open-minded. Many Amestrian soldiers who were in the civil war would not be so ready to take part in something so foreign."

This time, Riza spoke before Roy could. "You'll pardon my saying so, sir, but after everything we witnessed on the Promised Day… the traditions of a different culture don't seem as strange and foreign as they used to." She gave a small, rueful smile as the Master glanced back. "Welcoming ceremonies and blessings have more normality than the forced removal of souls and the unholy creation of all-powerful beings."

The Master chuckled quietly, facing forward once again. "A very good point, Lieutenant. And an interesting worldview."

The way to Jadad's closest temple was roughly half a mile through streets that were uncrowded and relatively easy to travel. Where buildings had been damaged or destroyed in the war, their rubble left strewn in the way of pedestrians, it had been shunted out of the way into disused alleyways, or into the small yards of vacant residences. Citizens going about their errands didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, offering smiles or nods of greeting to the Master, Scar, or Miles as they passed.

"We began tidying up the city with this sector first," Miles said over his shoulder. "About a month before the Promised Day, the Ishvalans that were living in the ruins of Xerxes made their way here, and started to make things a little more habitable. They knew there would be more of us arriving once the situation in Central changed, and they wanted to make sure our people would have roofs over their heads when they arrived back in the holy land."

"They also knew that, with this side of the city being the closest to Amestris, it's where most of the refugees would be arriving from," Scar put in. "Better that shelter be close at hand, rather than force them to walk through rubble or around the outside of the city to get to a habitable area."

"Good thinking," Roy commented. His eyes were roaming the front sides of buildings; taking in the architectural styles and types of buildings, Riza suspected. "And with the streets here mostly cleared already, transporting supplies to other, harder hit sections will be easier. It's better to start in one place and slowly spread outward, rather than try and fix random sections all at the same time."

"Like ripples in a pool of water," the Master agreed. "Changing the surface, but not the contents."

The temple loomed ahead, a two-storey flat-topped ziggurat, with an open-air pavilion at the top. People were scattered on the stepped sides of the structure, standing in conversation or seated to pore over scrolls and books. The style of their robes and sashes marked them as part of the priesthood.

A path leading up to the front of the ziggurat was lined on either side with low adobe walls, the open space they encircled filled with flat stone plaques embedded in the dirt. Names and numbers were carved into them, some faded by scouring sand, others not yet worn down by the passage of time.

"One of our most ancient burial grounds," Miles said quietly, when he saw Riza's eyes travelling over the rows of plaques. "This particular one was most commonly used by scholars and intellectuals, before the war. Though there are a fair amount of everyday citizens and tradespeople."

"It seems very… peaceful," she answered, trying not to reveal the shiver that had curled its way up her spine just before he spoke.

They paused at the foot of the structure to remove their sandals, lining them up neatly to one side, where they would be out of the way. The steps up the side of the temple were interspersed with narrow landings, to give climbers' legs a break in their ascent. At the top, a light breeze swept through the few columns, carrying on it the scents of cookfires, clean air, and sand. An old man dressed in a white robe belted by a white sash stood from where he had been sitting with a small pile of scrolls.

"Ah, I see you've brought our visitors." Crossing the space toward them, he clasped hands first with Roy, and then Riza. "I trust your journey here went smoothly. Heaven knows that starting such a task as the reconstruction with harrowing travel is hardly the way to get things done." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, the expression half-hidden behind a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. "There have been enough trials. It is time for celebration and rebirth."

Roy answered the smile in kind. "We're happy to have received such a warm welcome. It's more than the Lieutenant or I hoped for, or even thought possible, given the roles we played in the war." His smile faded. "I'd be lying if I said we didn't hope to get something personal out of this venture. Something at least close to atonement, if not the real thing."

The priest's hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing briefly. "Well then, son, you find yourself in the right place at just the right time." He turned, motioning them to follow. "Come. In order for Ishvala's work to be done, his blessing must be asked."

The Master, Scar, and Miles hung back, at the edge of the pavilion. Riza supposed that, as native Ishvalans, they had either already been blessed or else that blessing was somehow… inherent. The canvas 'roof' of the pavilion fluttered in the breeze, pierced at points so that it would not billow and strain, causing the sun to dance in a dappled pattern on the white flagstones.

The old priest led them to a circle of white cushions in the pavilion's centre, ringed around a shallow, sand-filled bowl in the stone floor about four feet in diameter. After making sure they were seated comfortably, the priest moved to the opposite side. He paused a moment, seeming to order his thoughts, before beginning to speak in the Ishvalan language.

The lilt of the words rose and fell with the distinct cadence of a prayer. Riza's gaze dropped to where her hands rested in her lap, aware that beside her, Roy was doing the same. It felt strange, when neither of them were practicers of any Amestrian religion… but this was necessary. And oddly enough, after the strange killer's attack on her in Grumman's East City apartment… this was helping her to feel somehow… clean. Clean in a way that the bath afterward hadn't.

 _It's one thing to clean the body,_ she thought idly. _It's another to clean the soul._

The prayer ended with a pause, before the priest spoke on for another few minutes. This time, the words held the instructive, informative tone of something like a sermon. It was brief, not even five minutes, and Riza spent the time listening to the near-musical flow of the strange words.

When he had finished, the priest knelt on the cool stone floor, leaning forward to smooth the sand in the basin before him. Riza watched his fingers nudging the tiny grains into place, feeling the motion calm her further still. _It makes sense they would use sand as part of ceremonies,_ she mused. _Ishvala is an earth god, and fertile soil is too precious out here to be used for anything other than farming. There's certainly no shortage of sand, though_.

When the sand in the basin had been completely smoothed, the priest drew three careful characters in the Ishvalan alphabet directly in front of Roy. The process was repeated, this time with four characters in front of Riza. It was immediately clear that these were their names, making the blessing that much more personal. Or so she assumed.

The priest sat straight, one hand held out palm down over either name, his head tilted back and eyes closed in a new prayer. He spoke the words first in Ishvalan, then a second time in an Amestrian translation, for their benefit.

"Ishvala, we ask for three gifts in the work that lies ahead. We ask for strength of character, for diligence, and for integrity."

Reaching down, he took a fistful of the sand Roy's name was written in, and another of Riza's. Coming back around to their side of the basin, he stood between them. "Hold both hands out, cupped together," he instructed quietly. Once they had both complied, he held his closed fists roughly two feet above. "The blessing asked, I pass it on to you," he said, solemnly. "May it colour all your work here, and all your interactions."

Riza watched his hand turn, watched the sand begin to trickle out in a thin stream down toward her waiting hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Roy watching the grit pour into his own palms. The formality of the ceremony weighed heavy on her shoulders… but only for a minute.

No more than a tablespoon of sand had collected in the palms of her hands than the skin there erupted with a feeling like fire, and she screamed.


	16. Apaavan

_A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! I'm sorry for the delay; it was a crazy busy weekend. I helped my husband host a public trivia night on Saturday and then Sunday we played D &D with friends and it ran late. So please enjoy this chapter, even if it is a little late!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen - Apaavan**

EAST CITY MILITARY HOSPITAL

1743 HOURS, APRIL 21

As soon as the man entered the main lobby of the hospital, once he was out of the infernal sun, he felt the irritating weakness in his limbs fade. It wasn't entirely gone, not while the sun remained above the horizon, but as long as he wasn't directly within its beams, he would manage.

He was careful to carry his bouquet of flowers upright, so that the canvas bag folded in amongst the stems wouldn't fall and draw unnecessary attention. _Just a man visiting an ill friend_ , he thought to himself. _Or perhaps my wife just gave birth to our child. That would certainly garner more sympathy, if any staff become too nosy…._

Pausing in front of the directory board mounted across from the entry, he let his eyes skim over unnecessary departments such as Obstetrics, Podiatry, Emergency…. _Ah, there_.

'Phlebotomy Clinic.'

Perhaps the Emergency department would make a good exit once he was finished; it appeared to be located the closest to the hospital's blood donor facility. And why not? If the blood was to be used on incoming patients anyway, why should it travel farther than it needed to?

Starting off down the corridor, he kept his pace measured and his expression neutral. He passed mostly nurses and orderlies who were too absorbed in their duties to pay much attention, visitors or patients looking for specific rooms, the occasional doctor in the white coats that identified their positions, and once, a cheery, pink-pinstriped candy striper with her small cart.

Unfortunately, of all those he passed, he made eye contact with her.

The girl couldn't have been older than 17, and she was nearly impossible to ignore. Between her curly blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and dazzling broad smile, she drew attention like iron filings to a magnet. The man began to feel the weakness returning, brought on by nothing but an overly sunny disposition.

"Good evening, sir!" she chirped, her tone oozing friendliness and the pep of three dozen pep rallies. "Can I interest you in anything for the person you're visiting? Nothing gets somebody back on their feet like a good pick-me-up!" She giggled at her own joke.

"That would be rather difficult," the man said, making his voice as bland and bleak as possible. "My friend was in a rather unfortunate accident and appears to be in a coma."

The smile dropped off the girl's face so quickly that it was nearly comical. "Oh my gosh… that's terrible!" Those blue eyes swam with emotion and what appeared to be the very beginnings of tears. "I hope they come out of it soon. In fact, I'm sure they will — East City has some of the best doctors!"

"Yes, I'm aware." Stepping past her, he continued down the hall, reimagining the moment the annoyingly bright smile had vanished. "Please, excuse me."

"Sir, one moment!"

Annoyance washed over him like high tide, and he took a deep breath before turning to face her. It wouldn't do to snap and draw the stares of onlookers; even the excuse of an ailing friend could only support so much blame. When he turned, the girl was so close, it felt that she was practically nose to nose with him. Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she pressed something into it with that same cheerful smile.

"Here, sir. Perhaps your friend might not need anything, but here's something to keep _you_ going in the meantime. Got to keep your strength up!" Turning, she bounced back to her cart and set off along the hall with a wave. "Take care, now!"

Looking down at the cookie in his hand, the man grimaced at the icing smile drawn across the oatmeal chocolate chip surface. With his teeth gritted, he glanced about to make sure he was unobserved before shoving the thing into the nearest waste bin and stalking off down the hall.

He followed the relevant signs to the phlebotomy clinic, using the time to regain his composure. When he finally reached it, he stood, ostensibly examining another directory board, but watching from the corner of his eye through the open clinic door. Two donors sat in the tiny waiting area, a petite female orderly behind the check-in desk. This woman got up as a male nurse escorted a third donor into the waiting area, and presented him with a cookie and a small paper cup of juice. The nurse disappeared back into the depths of the clinic after an exchange of a few words, taking one of the waiting donors with him.

The man pasted a friendly smile on his face — dim, compared to the candy striper — and headed inside.

"Hello there," he greeted the orderly as she returned to the desk. "I have a flower delivery here for the clinic manager."

"For Mr. Lanceton?" The girl looked puzzled. "I didn't know he liked flowers…. I'm sorry, he's already left for the day. If you like, you can leave them here and he can pick them up first thing in the morning."

The man's smile turned knowing. "It's kind of the idea that he left before I got here. The customer asked specifically that we deliver them after he left at 5, so that they would be on his desk first thing tomorrow morning. A nice sort of surprise to start the day, you know?" Leaning over the counter, he gave the girl a wink. "Are you _sure_ you can't let me in there? Just for a minute?"

The girl blushed prettily, looking away. "Well… okay. He usually leaves his office door unlocked, just in case any of us need files or anything after he leaves." She pointed back over her shoulder. "Go ahead – third door on the left. Just be quick, okay?"

"As quick as I can, so that I can get back here and see that cute smile again," he promised, before passing the desk and heading off down the hall.

The right side was apparently devoted entirely to exam rooms, with the left side being reserved for offices… and the cold storage lab. Bypassing the manager's office, the man glanced briefly over his shoulder before hurrying to the lab and slipping inside.

A cool draft pervaded the room, spiralling off the glass-fronted coolers that lined one wall. With it being after five, the lab techs had all gone home for the day, leaving the room empty and dimly lit.

Taking the folded bag from inside the flower bouquet, he dropped the bundle on the floor and kicked it aside, scattering petals and leaves. It had served its purpose. He shook the bag out, his tongue running over gleaming white teeth as he approached the coolers and the life-filled glass bottles stored within. They were lined up in neat rows, their labels showing that they were grouped by type and date.

The man reached in, taking three bottles at random. A, B, O, AB… none of that mattered to him; he was swallowing the stuff, not taking it intravenously. Arranging the bottles in the bag, he selected two more, nestling them alongside the others. His long fingers were just brushing against the sixth and seventh selections when the silence of the lab was shattered.

"What are you _doing_?!"

When he looked back, the male nurse from earlier was standing in the doorway, a bottle of fresh blood in his hand. One hand rested on the doorknob, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide in surprise.

The man smiled, letting his pointed canine teeth show. "Inventory inspection. For… quality control."

He gripped the open bag in his fist, keeping any of the stolen bottles from spilling out, and launched himself across the room at the nurse. The other saw him coming and took a surprised half-step back before the intruder landed against his chest and forced him to the floor.

Leaning back, the man raised his free hand and brought a newly-formed fist crashing against the nurse's temple. The unfortunate man had time for a single violent twitch, before sharp teeth were buried in his throat. He gasped once, dazed eyes open wide, the sound turning into a wet gurgle as the piercing teeth ripped.

The man didn't wait to see the life drain out of his victim; a shame, really. He enjoyed that part. Taking the bag, he glanced down once at his suit: the chest and entire left arm were covered in a spray of bright red arterial blood, more still coming from the choking, dying man on the floor. There was no way to explain this, no way to calmly walk out of the hospital like nothing was wrong….

Hugging the bag of blood-filled bottles to his chest, the man broke into a run.

The exclamations, when he dashed through the reception area, were more surprised than horrified. Out the door, he turned right, toward the emergency room, hearing the shouts and surprise behind him turn horrified as they realized just what the red stuff on him was.

Patients, visitors, and staff alike pressed themselves out of his way as he hurtled through the halls, often crying out as he passed as they spotted the blood. One or two of them screamed, and an elderly man who had the misfortune to get a clear look at him stopped in his tracks before passing out in shock.

The man burst through the doors into the busy emergency room, skidding to a halt mere feet from the nearest set of chairs. The breath heaved in his chest, his head swivelling this way and that as he tried to locate the exit. A shocked hush fell over the scene, the only sound his own ragged breathing as he breathed in the scents of fear, antiseptic, sickness, and blood.

Two uniformed security guards stepped slowly from an adjacent hallway, their hands resting on the guns holstered at their hips. They paused, eyes taking in the blood on the man's suit and the wild look in the eyes that swung their way.

The man grinned, revealing blood-streaked, pointed white teeth. A woman nearby gasped and clutched her coughing child closer, shrinking away from the man as she did.

"All right, sir," the first guard said cautiously, one hand held out in a calming gesture. "Take it easy. You don't want to make things any worse for yourself than they already are."

"I'm relatively sure that's impossible," the man shot back, still grinning. It wasn't his usual assured, confident smile; his held more than a hint of manicness, betrayed how his brain was tilting toward imbalance… how the bloodlust had its hold and was keeping a firm grip. "At least… things can't get worse for me. You…. You might not be so lucky."

The guard frowned, puzzled. "And just what is that supposed to —"

His words disappeared in screams, both his own and those of the people around him as the man lunged forward. A hand fisted itself around the uniform's tie, dragging the unfortunate man close to where his attacker's teeth could sink into his throat. The man jerked his head back, twisting as he did so for maximum power, feeling the lacerations spread into shreds.

He shoved the dying guard back into his partner, then turned and bolted toward the wide doors across the room. He dodged walkers and canes, leapt empty seats, and pushed bodies from his path regardless of age or health. At one point, a man in dirt- and oil-smudged overalls stood up, a bloody rag wrapped around an injured hand, and attempted to catch the fleeing man in a bear hug. Had he been a fraction of a second faster, he would have succeeded, but the man ducked his would-be captor's arm and shot through the doors into the gathering dusk.

The sun hadn't been down long, probably only having slipped below the horizon a few minutes before. His limbs lacked their full strength to sustain his top running speed, and transferring to a less corporeal form wouldn't be possible until it was a good deal darker.

Slowing to an easy lope, the man headed off along back alleys and little-used streets, his arms wrapped tightly around the bottles of hunger-sating blood.

* * *

RECONSTRUCTION OUTPOST OFFICE, JADAD, ISHVAL

0723 HOURS, APRIL 22

He was waiting outside their office when they arrived to begin the work day. Roy stood with his back to the wall beside the front door, his arms folded and his expression entirely composed. Dark eyes watched the two men approaching from across the plaza, not missing the way they exchanged a glance before reaching him.

"You're up early, Colonel," Miles commented, once he and Scar were within earshot. "Did you sleep well?"

"Bold of you to assume I slept at all," was the acerbic answer. Roy shifted to stand straight, but otherwise held his ground. "Given that I was forcibly separated from my Lieutenant thirty seconds after she was screaming her head off for some reason I still don't know, and no one will tell me anything." Hard, dark eyes went from one man to the other and back again. "Nothing about what was wrong, nothing about where she was taken or who she was taken by, and nothing about when she might be back or when I can see her."

Grim-faced as ever, Scar stepped past him, unlocking the door and allowing it to swing open. "Come inside," he said tersely, entering and not bothering to see if he was followed. "You won't want to discuss this out in the open."

Roy couldn't help but glance around as he stepped inside what had once been a single-family house. The door opened into what had likely been a general family/living room, with an archway off to the right leading to what he could only assume was some sort of dining room. A doorway there permitted the barest glimpse of a kitchen area that Scar disappeared into. Stairs in the main room led to a second floor, and — one would assume — what had once been bedrooms.

And every direction he turned, every surface was covered in scrolls, maps, books, blank paper, and writing tools.

"Welcome to our newest outpost of the Reconstruction Office," Miles commented offhandedly. "Perhaps not as tidy as a military office, but it's a functional sort of chaos."

Roy didn't answer, watching as the Major closed the door and moved to kneel behind a low writing desk off to one side. "What's going on that you didn't want to discuss it outside?" he finally asked, moving to where he could see both Miles and Scar, the latter moving about inside the kitchen area to the clinking of earthenware cups.

The warrior priest spoke without looking over. "How long has your Lieutenant been _apaavan_?" he asked quietly.

"…Has she been…?"

" _Apaavan_ ," Miles repeated, already sorting through the books on his desk, apparently in search of one in particular. "It's our word for 'unclean' or 'unholy.'"

For a long moment, all Roy could do was stare at the other man. He was barely aware of Scar re-entering the room, automatically accepting the steaming cup of tea the warrior passed to him. Finally, when he found his voice, all he could think to say was, "…Why would you think she's that?"

"Her reaction to the blessed sand speaks for itself," Scar answered. He settled behind a second writing desk Roy hadn't noticed; the surface was piled so high with maps and scrolls that it was hard to recognize the furniture underneath. "You'll notice that you didn't react when it touched you, but —"

Roy gritted his teeth, cutting across the other man. "Let me get this straight. Lieutenant Hawkeye reacted so strangely because the sand was holy and she was… not?" His felt his fingers tighten on the cup and forced his grip to loosen before he shattered the thing. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"A very good question," Miles commented. Apparently finding the book he wanted, he looked up. "Please, sit, Colonel. Standing can't be _that_ comfortable." He pointed to a cushion in front of his desk, and Roy sank reluctantly onto it. "To answer your good question, it's rather simple. Something the Lieutenant has done has, to oversimplify things, corrupted her soul. That which ties us to God."

Roy's mind flashed him the briefest of images: the way she'd thrown her head back in the back of the truck, literally screaming in pure, unadulterated pleasure —

"What sort of thing could she have done?" he said, forcing his mind back to the task at hand. Taking a cautious, thoughtful sip of tea, he added, "It can't be anything to do with our roles in the civil war, or else I'd be… _apaavan?_ " He glanced at Scar, who nodded confirmation. "— as well. I would have reacted just as badly as she did."

"There can be several reasons a person is considered unclean," Miles assured him. "Things like… well, as Major General Armstrong said once or twice, if there were 'bears in the forest,' so to speak."

Roy lifted one eyebrow, waiting for the other to explain, before Scar quietly cleared his throat. "A woman being on her cycle is considered _physically_ unclean," he clarified. Something in his usually unreadable mask of a face took an uncomfortable edge. "A reaction like the Lieutenant's points to unholiness of the soul, not the body."

"And that returns to the question of how she got that way." Taking another sip of the tea, Roy allowed himself to relax a little in posture; staying angry and uptight wouldn't help Riza any faster. "What causes corruption to a soul?"

Scar's shrug was about as expressive as the man ever got. "In our modern times, it's relegated mostly to what you would 'cardinal sins.' Things like murder, rape, adultery… things on that level. In times past, I would also include pacts with otherworldly beings, selling her soul to a demon, or unnatural creation at the hands of someone like the Homonculi's Father… but those would seem to be a bit farfetched."

Miles had the book open in front of him on the desk, skimming through it carefully. He paused on one page in particular, then looked up. "Possession," he suggested.

Roy went cold all over.

Deep frown lines etched Scar's forehead as he thought. "I would consider it more likely than the other supernatural options," he said at last, "but still quite a reach."

"More likely how?" Roy took a sip of his tea to counteract the sudden dryness of his mouth.

The large man shrugged expressively. "There were millions of souls flying loose during the Promised Day," he answered. "If one lost its spiritual connection to its body, it stands to reason it might try and attach itself to another host. And if that host happened to be your Lieutenant, it would create a kind of corruption."

 _At least he doesn't suspect what I do…._ Sitting straight, Roy glanced between the two men, putting his years of command into full play. "Regardless of whatever is causing the problem, I want to see her," he said firmly. "I won't stay separated from a member of my team when they need help."

"No one is saying you should, Colonel," Miles soothed. He gestured toward the stairs before looking back to his book. "We'll continue trying to find an explanation. Your Lieutenant spent the night upstairs, under observation."

It took most of what Roy had not to scramble for the stairs at top speed. He instead forced himself to calmly set down his cup and rise smoothly to his feet. His steps were purposeful but unhurried as he ascended to the second floor, finding Scar's master sitting cross-legged on the floor outside a closed wooden door.

The older man smiled in a fatherlike way, getting to his feet and offering a small bow. "Good morning, Colonel," he said, quietly. "I told her you would be here before too long. I'm pleased to see I was right."

"Thank you for looking after her," he answered, just as quietly. "Is she awake?"

"I believe so, though she's been silent for some time." His expression turned solemn. "As to what happened yesterday at the temple…. Once the two of you have had a chance to catch up, I'd like to go over some of the options for your Lieutenant. On how to help her."

Roy inclined his head in an abbreviated bow. "Thank you. I'll let you know when she's ready. Now, if you don't mind?" He gestured to the door.

When it was opened for him, it was onto a severe interior. The walls and floor were bare, as was the lone window that looked out over the expanse of sandy dirt that was the small building's 'backyard.' The only light came from the window, and Roy stepped inside into shadows that only deepened as the door closed behind him.

"I didn't think you'd keep me waiting long."

His head turned as the voice came from a dark corner, his eyes taking a moment to fully see her as they adjusted to the gloom. Riza was just getting to her feet, one hand on the wall for balance, though she winced and pulled it away after a moment. She still wore the simple desert dress and sash, but the headscarf was gone, allowing her bangs to fall freely into her eyes.

"Hey, there you –"

He broke off, staring as exactly what he was seeing sank in. His feet had only taken a pair of steps in her direction before he froze in his tracks, mouth falling open. A long, loud silence fell before his voicebox remembered its function, although the only words his brain could muster were "…Holy shit."

Riza smiled wryly, though there wasn't much strength behind it. "That seems to be the sentiment of most people who have seen me," she replied, far more calmly than Roy would have thought. She held up her hands, palms out. "Though it's mostly in response to this."

On each palm where her hands had touched as they were cupped to receive the blessed sand was an angry red half-circle. Spreading out from that, as though each vein and capillary were traced in ink, was a network of fine, red lines. It looked like the web of some crazed spider, with the arachnid itself sitting large and menacing in the centre.

Carefully, he took her hands in his, bringing them closer for a better look. Her skin was cool, almost cold to the touch, and pale enough that the red stood out starkly even in the dim light. "Riza… are these _burns_?"

"Why do you think I screamed?" She tried to gently tug free of his grasp, but he didn't allow her to slip away. "It's all right; our… _hosts_ gave me some salve to take the heat out of them. They're mostly just tender."

"Yeah. Our hosts." He glanced around the room, seeing the sleeping pallet in one corner, the small mirror on the wall, but no other furniture. "Are they treating you all right? Did they let you sleep?"

She was smiling, the expression fond, and tolerant of his worrying. "I've been left to my own devices since ten o'clock last night," she informed him. "The guard outside is for my own protection from any citizen that may have heard what happened, and to assist me if necessary." She shrugged. "He and I talked for a few hours. He's very nice."

His irritation was rising at her apparent disregard for her situation, and Roy had to grit his teeth to stop himself from saying anything too harsh. "Riza, do you know what happened after the blessing went south? Miles and Scar's Master pulled a disappearing act with you, while Scar himself pretty much pinned me to the floor so that I couldn't go after them."

Unable to hold himself back completely, he wrapped her in a fierce hug, burying his nose in the fall of her hair. "I've spent the last twenty hours replaying it all in my head, trying to figure out what happened, hoping you were all right, wondering where you were…. They wouldn't tell me anything, other than that you were in a safe place, that they were looking into it, that the best thing I could do was to keep a low profile and talk to them this morning." He hugged her tighter as her hands rested gently on his back. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

"I know. I'm sorry you were so worried." She pulled away just enough so that her hands cupped his face, lifting his head to where she could look him in the eye. "I'm all right. You're all right. Things are going to work out for the better."

But his dark eyes were tracking over her face, scrutinizing, trying to see that comforting shade of brown, but the colour hidden by the shadows. "Are you _sure_ everything's okay with you?" Standing straight, he held her at arms' length for a better look. "You're white as a sheet, your hands are like ice…." His gaze went to the spots of bright colour in her cheeks, and he frowned. One hand lifted to press the back against her forehead, brushing her bangs aside. "You didn't have any problems stemming from those burns? No shock or anything?"

She shook her head, ducking away from his hand. "No, Roy, and I'm not feverish either."

"Okay, okay. I was just checking." The same hand touched her cheek, the gesture intimate rather than analytical, before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I have to make sure my Lieutenant is in top form. She knows I'd go under without her."

* * *

From the moment he walked in, she was biding her time. It hadn't taken Riza long to discover that even the faint light of morning was enough to kick off the feeling of weakness in her limbs if she stood in it directly. It was the sensation if a body preparing to fall unconscious, though the associated blackness never came.

So, Riza stayed in that shadows, out of the direct fall of sun. She was there when he found her, something inside her chest giving a happy leap at the sight of him. Even with his face in shadow, she could pick out the mixture of worry and relief when those dark eyes landed on her, could see the way the frown lines in his forehead deepened when it was obvious her hands were injured.

She almost pulled him close at the first touch, but forced herself to hold back. She couldn't appear too eager to see him, or risk alerting the Ishvalan outside her door to their illicit little affair. There was the chance that it would be interpreted as relief after being forcibly separated from him under strange circumstances, but until she had a better handle on the culture, it was better not to risk it.

Her eyes stayed on the marks on her hands as he examined them. "Riza, are these _burns_?"

"Why do you think I screamed?" She watched the neckline of his tunic pull away from his throat as he looked up, his pulse visible as the tiniest flutter of a vein beneath the skin. An overwhelming feeling of desire rose like thick fog in mind, and she tried to tug away from him before she could act upon it… but his hands held fast to hers. "It's all right; our… _hosts_ gave me some salve to take the heat out of them. They're mostly just tender."

"Yeah. Our hosts." Riza's eyes started drifting back toward the side if his neck as his head turned, looking around the small room. "Are they treating you all right? Did they let you sleep?"

She could faintly hear his heartbeat, now that she was consciously listening for it; the sound drew a smile to her lips. "I've been left to my own devices since ten o'clock last night," she answered almost automatically. Her attention was taken up with the steady _th-thump th-thump th-thump_ coming from his chest. "The guard outside is for my own protection from any citizen that may have heard what happened, and to assist me if necessary." She shrugged. "He and I talked for a few hours. He's very nice."

The sound of his teeth clenching carried over the sound of his pulse. When she met his gaze, it was full of frustration, worry, and something close to desperation. "Riza, do you know what happened after the blessing went south? Miles and Scar's Master pulled a disappearing act with you, while Scar himself pretty much pinned me to the floor so that I couldn't go after them."

Roy abruptly wrapped her in a tight hug, and though Riza tried to pay attention to what he said – he was concerned, that much was obvious – the sudden proximity of his heart drowned out the words. Her ear, so close against his neck, could hear nothing but a rushing roar of pumping muscle and flowing blood. Lifting her hands, she settled them on his back, holding hm closer so that she could keep listening to that sound….

And abruptly realized he had stopped speaking and was probably waiting for an answer. "I know. I'm sorry you were so worried." Easing herself away from him, so that she could hear, if nothing else, she cupped his face in both hands. "I'm all right. You're all right. Things are going to work out for the better."

He was watching her closely, brows slowly lowering into a frown. "Are you _sure_ everything's okay with you? You're white as a sheet, your hands are like ice…." He stepped back as he spoke, giving her a brief once-over before reaching up to press the back of one hand against her forehead. "You didn't have any problems stemming from those burns? No shock or anything?"

Ducking away from his hand before he could notice how her eyes looked, she played the evasion off with a smile. She couldn't let him see her eyes just yet; she had seen them in the mirror, but thanks to the dim lighting, he had yet to notice. "No, Roy, and I'm not feverish either."

"Okay, okay. I was just checking." His fingers brushed down one cheek, before he leaned in to press a kiss to the other. "I have to make sure my Lieutenant is in top form. She knows I'd go under without her."

The roar of his pulse sounded briefly again in her ears, and Riza unconsciously moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue. Roy stepped away as suddenly as he had moved closer, heading toward the lone window and leaving her in the centre of the room.

"I have to say, this has taken a turn from how I pictured our return to Ishval," he commented. Riza watched his hands reach reflexively for pockets that weren't there, instead folding behind his back. "But with any luck, we can move past this and get down to business in the next day or two."

Her mind was beginning to drift away from her, most reasoning fading into the background as what felt like mental white noise took over. Her muscles felt loose and lithe, her body moving with more ease of movement than she ever remembered having before.

"Hey." Roy glanced back over his shoulder when she spoke, finding her with her arms held out to him. "I think you and I have some business of our own that needs attending to."

He glanced briefly toward the door, weighing his options; Riza waited. She could wait forever if she needed to… but she knew he wouldn't last long before giving in. After the stresses of the day before, she was the tall drink of cool water for the man just emerging from the desert, and he would not resist her.

When he stepped into her embrace, his arms settling comfortably around her, he was smiling. "Sorry, I thought we were done with this…." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "Though the way you've been going the last few weeks, I shouldn't be surprised."

She smiled, watching the way his eyes dropped toward her lips… and then widened at the sight of her teeth. "I suppose I have been a little… demanding, haven't I."

The takedown happened as though she were dancing with an inordinately clumsy partner. Her arms still around him, Riza twisted sharply on the spot, throwing him off-balance. Roy gave a surprised yell as he started to fall, and she braced herself as his hold on her dragged her along.

He hit the floorboards on his back, with her hugged to his chest. Riza pressed both hands to the floor and pushed herself up, keeping herself astride his chest to ensure he would stay where he was. "Sir, if you keep making noise like that, it's going to be very hard to explain to our hosts," she commented mildly.

"Riza, what the hell –"

"Sshhhhh." She leaned over him, one finger pressed to his lips, though it was a needless gesture. His eyes flitted from her eyes, to her teeth, and back again. "Language, sir, there's a lady present."

Sitting straight, trailed the finger from his lips, down his throat, and to the centre of his chest with feathery lightness. She shook the half-concealing bangs from her eyes, allowing the slit-pupiled amethyst purple to show, her smile hinting at the pointed canine teeth he had already noticed.

"Besides, you've never fought me before. Why start now?"


	17. Yantir

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm excited for you guys to dig deep into this chapter, to start exploring just what has changed about Riza, so I'll keep this short. I hope you enjoy it!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen - Yantir**

RECONSTRUCTION OFFICE OUTPOST, JADAD, ISHVAL

0745 HOURS, APRIL 22

In retrospect, he supposed he ought to have seen that she wasn't acting like herself.

 _Love is blind_. The old phrase flashed through his mind like a taunt as he stared at those strange slit-pupiled eyes, worlds different than the warm whiskey brown he was so used to. The way she carried herself was pure confidence and dangerous sexuality, promising the fulfillment of every fantasy, but her eyes….

Her eyes were colder than ice.

Out of nowhere, he found his voice, holding both hands up in surrender. "Riza, take it easy," he said cautiously. "Something's not right here. Let's just take a step back, and –"

"'Not right?'" she echoed, her smile vanishing into clear annoyance. "I think you're practicing your talent in making understatements, sir. Because there's not just something wrong here; there have been things wrong in East City, in Central…."

She reached out, lacing her fingers through his before slowly leaning forward, pressing his hands down to the floor on either side of his head. Her smile returned, the light from the window glinting from her menacingly sharp canine teeth. "There's a new corruption in this country, Colonel," she breathed, nearly nose to nose with him. "And it's spreading."

Across the room, the door burst open, both Scar and his Master stepping inside. The men paused for only instant as they took in the scene in front of them, enough time for Riza's head to whip around, those strange amethyst eyes glaring at them over her shoulder.

In the next moment, Scar darted forward, putting his usual incredible speed to work. He bent low in the last few steps, his shoulder catching Riza in the ribs and throwing her to one side. The big man barely managed to avoid colliding with Roy as well, coming to his feet between Colonel and Lieutenant, and bracing for further combat.

Scar's Master reached down, helping Roy to his feet, his expression grim. "I apologize, Colonel. If I had known things were this bad, I would have come in with you. She seemed quite normal when we were speaking last night; not like this at all."

"Façades are useful things to hide behind," Riza answered from near the wall. Roy looked in her direction, watching her pick herself up gracefully from the floor. She paused, moving her left shoulder to stretch out the muscles in her side where she had been struck, then smiled. "You should be careful, Scar. You're going to hurt someone, throwing them around like that."

"Keep control of yourself, Lieutenant, and I won't need to," he answered shortly.

The way she spoke, the way she moved… it was all starting to remind Roy uncomfortably of something or someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Lieutenant, you and I both know this isn't you," he started, keeping his voice low and steady. "If it's an act, then it ends now. But if this is some kind of side effect from what happened yesterday… then we'll find a way to fix it."

She watched him as he spoke, with the vague sense of a lioness eyeing prey, or an enemy… or both. Finally, she shrugged fatalistically. "And if this is just the new me, sir? You might just have to get used to it." Her gaze wandered south along his body. "It wouldn't be too difficult. You've already been benefiting from one particular change."

"Enough." The single word was quiet, but when Scar's Master spoke it, it was filled with purpose. "Lieutenant, you will stay here for the time being. I will return shortly, once we've formed a plan of what is to be done."

Her smile, when she gave it, was sultry. "I'll be here."

Once the door was closed, the three men stood in a brief moment of tense silence, before Miles came up the stairs. "I heard the commotion," he said, looking with concern from serious face to serious face. "What happened?"

"We're not entirely sure," Scar's Master informed him. "Send a message to the temple: I want three warriors sent here immediately to stand guard, both inside the building and out. Once they've arrived, you and I will go to the library and see what we can discover about what's going on."

"Miles said earlier that Lieutenant Hawkeye might be possessed somehow," Scar commented grimly. "It's beginning to look like a strong possibility."

"We'll look into it," the master promised. He glanced once at Roy, then back to his student. "For now, take the Colonel back to his accommodations. It's been a more eventful morning than any of us bargained for, and I think some time to process is needed."

Roy didn't speak, didn't acknowledge the advice, just mutely followed Scar down the stairs and out the front door. Behind him, a flurry of Ishvalan dialogue passed between the Master and Miles, no doubt discussion on what to do with their not-quite prisoner and what might be wrong with her.

 _Prisoner_. The word rebounded through his head, and Roy couldn't stop the wince from showing on his face. Bad enough that Riza was very much not herself, but that she was being forcibly held for it….

He made it a dozen steps into the street before the guilt overwhelmed him and he spun back toward the house. His jaw clenched, hands curling into determined fists as he took the first step back - and then a firm hand wrapped around his arm.

"I know what you're thinking." Scar's voice was stern. "But the best thing for now is to regroup, form a plan, and come back when we have one."

"I can't leave her here alone," Roy shot back, turning to glare at the bigger man. "She's not herself, but that doesn't mean she's not my subordinate. One of five that I take it _very_ personally when something is _this_ wrong." He shook his head, tugging free and starting toward the house again. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to help her. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to stop me."

"What do you think would have happened if my Master and I didn't enter the room when we did?"

That stopped him in his tracks nearly as well as any hand. Looking back over his shoulder, Roy watched the other warily. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think she was going to do?" Scar stood with arms folded, looking very much as he had in the tunnels under Central, lecturing Roy on the perils of vengeance. "Did you think she was playing some kind of game? Did you think she would leave you be if you surrendered? Or did you think that yours and the Lieutenant's long history would keep her from hurting you?"

Roy didn't answer, his forehead deeply furrowed and his eyes on the sand between them. He _had_ thought that, that no matter what she looked like, the person in that room upstairs was Riza Hawkeye. She was his master's daughter, his comrade-in-arms, his assistant, his staunch supporter, lover —

Lover. _Oh no…._ None of the others in the room had been looking at her when she made her little insinuation, had they? Roy couldn't remember; he had still been watching those eyes, those hypnotic, inexplicably purple eyes…. He could only hope that neither of the others had noticed the way she took in the measure of his body; the words without the action could mean any number of things, but that look would damn him and their whole carefully concealed relationship.

"I thought…" he said slowly, "that if I could just make her hear me…. The real her, not… not whatever has taken her over…. Then maybe we could figure this out more easily." He looked up. "Somehow, I don't think she's going to be entirely cooperative."

"We think alike." Turning, Scar started off along the street again, clearly expecting Roy to follow. "Come; we should at least be comfortable while we discuss this."

The walk back to the house assigned to Roy – and Riza, in absentia – was a silent one. Absorbed in his thoughts, Roy didn't notice the occasional strange glance cast his way, or the several people that broke into whispers as he and Scar passed. With the sun rising higher, the streets were beginning to fill with people, and the sight of an Ishvalan warrior and a pale-skinned, dark-haired Amestrian drew attention.

Scar reached the house's front door ahead of him, pushing it open before stepping aside to allow Roy to go first. "The occupant of a house always goes before a guest," he said, by way of explanation. Even in the midst of a serious situation, the small lessons and instructions on Ishvalan culture were presented at every opportunity. Not that Roy was paying much attention just now.

He dropped to a seat at the low dining table, one hand rising immediately to rub his forehead in weary resignation. From the small kitchen area came the sounds – for the second time that morning – of Scar preparing tea, but he paid little attention.

 _How could she have changed so drastically?_ _And so_ fast? Better question, why hadn't he seen it? Of all people, Roy knew Riza as well as he knew himself… at least he had thought so. Yet she had hinted that this change in her had been going on for a while; the thinly-veiled comment about their bedroom activities seemed to suggest so anyway.

 _So if that's a clue, if her uptick in sex drive is a marker of how long this change has been in progress_ …. He counted back mentally, briefly reliving each encounter until he arrived at…. _Just after we were released from hospital, at her apartment in Central. Our first time in months that we –_

 _No. Wait…._

His eyes fixed blankly on the tabletop, he felt a growing sense of shock and something disturbingly like horror deep in his chest. There was that first attempt on her part, after leaving the Walston crime scene. That first, very uncharacteristic attempt, with their borrowed car pulled into a deserted alley in broad daylight.

Roy frowned deeply, his hand slipping from his forehead to his chin. _That was… was that really only a week ago? Before all of this, we maybe would have slept together two or three times, but it's been seven… well, no there were a couple multiples in there, so… ten? Ten in eight days…._ He gritted his teeth in self-annoyance. _And you were too drunk on your own pleasure to see it,_ _dumbass_ _. Or else thinking with the wrong head. Maybe both._

The self-admonishing train of thought snapped to a halt as Scar, once again, set a steaming cup in front of him before settling down across the table with his own tea.

Roy looked down into the cup's depths, seeing his own face reflected in sepia tones from the liquid inside. "Another little piece of culture I never knew about," he murmured, half to himself. "I didn't realize tea was so popular here."

"Generally, it is reserved for ceremonial practices, but those who have a taste for it often keep it in their homes." The big man was watching him expressionlessly. "For example, my mother would always serve tea whenever anyone in our household was upset. She always said that tea would calm what words could not."

Roy did not know why it had never occurred to him that this mostly nameless warrior, one covered in muscle and battle scars and harbouring one of the bleakest personal histories he had ever known… had ever had a mother. He knew the man had to come from _somewhere,_ but it had almost seemed as if he had sprung from the earth, fully formed and hunting State alchemists.

But to say so would only insult him. Roy forced a half-smile and lifted the cup to his lips. "Sounds like a wise woman."

"She was." Scar's reed eyes stayed fixed on him, even as he lifted his own cup for a sip. "How long have you and your Lieutenant been together?"

Roy nearly choked, but managed at the last second to swallow properly, feeling the pleasant heat all the way down to his stomach. "Well… professionally, since the civil war. Before that, since my time as an apprentice."

The red stare was unblinking, but while it was not particularly friendly, it was not intimidating. "You know what I asked."

Cold sweat was beginning to gather on the back of his neck in spite of the warmth from the tea. Roy knew his rueful grin was lopsided and uneasy, but also knew that any attempt to hide the truth from someone who clearly already knew it would only prolong the inevitable and make the punishment twice as harsh.

"Like I said, professionally: since the civil war." He watched Scar's eyes narrow in annoyance. "Emotionally, at least on my end of things…." He braced himself for this admission to a near-total stranger. "I've wanted her since the day I first saw her, when I was apprenticing. I don't know her thoughts on it, since she's never told me. But physically?" He shrugged to hide his discomfort. "If you count the six months that Bradley kept us separated, then about a year and a half."

He knew the challenge was in his eyes, the subtle 'What are you going to do about it?' hanging unspoken in the air between them. With Scar's religious affinity, Roy fully expected a morally-charged comment on the topic of premarital sex… and was faintly surprised when the other merely took an unhurried sip of tea.

"You're a good match," the other man said laconically. Red eyes watched Roy over the rim of his cup. "And a good team."

"Thanks." The danger seemingly past, Roy took a settling sip of his own tea. "Though I'm sure I don't have to tell you that this does not leave this room." His lips quirked in a humourless, dry smile. "Can't exactly help with the Reconstruction when I'm under court-martial."

Scar's cup resettled onto the wooden table with a soft clunk. "Even if I were inclined to share your secret – which for the sake of my own honour, I wouldn't do – I realize that it would put the Reconstruction on hold, if not in jeopardy entirely." His look turned meaningful. "Though I would say you and Lieutenant Hawkeye have a much bigger problem than what you have been up to in your personal lives."

Unease crept into Roy's stomach with a feeling like seeping ice water. "Right…" Breathing deeply, he folded his arms on the table. "What do you think it is?"

"Possession." The answer was prompt and firm. "The battle in Central was roughly two weeks ago, and the Lieutenant said this 'change' of hers has been going on for some time."

Roy was frowning down at the tabletop in thought again, mulling the possibility over. "Thanks to the Homonculi's Father, there were any number of souls flying around that day," he murmured. "Most would follow the lifeline of their spirit back to the body they were meant for, but supposing that string were severed…" His right index finger rubbed absently at his lower lip. "Hawkeye was one of very few people still conscious while Father was trying to… to call down God, I suppose. If a soul was severed from its spirit but looking for a place to go when the national alkahestry circle activated and freed all the ones he'd sucked in…."

"It stands to reason it would go to one of closest live bodies in its vicinity." Scar was watching him closely. "And if it happened to be the soul of some convicted criminal or someone on the fringe…."

 _More like a nymphomaniac, the way we've been –_ He barely stopped himself from giving the violent headshake he wanted to, to clear the thought. "She _has_ had a little bit harder of a time keeping her temper in check since the battle," he said aloud, reaching for the tea again. "I'm not talking about the incident with that reporter, either. She thought I didn't notice, but there were a few times where she seemed to get annoyed over trivial things or things that normally don't faze her…. I put it down to her still being shaken up over the Promised Day."

"I think the main question should be not what kind of soul she absorbed, but how she absorbed it," Scar said, watching the tea in his cup as he swirled it around. "I was always led to believe that a human body has room for exactly one soul – the one it is meant to host. How can a second one fit into a living body?"

Roy shook his head wearily and drained his cup. In credit to Scar's mother, the warmth of the drink did help to calm him somewhat. "A question for a better theologian than I," he said resignedly. "It appears that's what's happened, though, and so the only thing left to do is deal with the extra soul."

The bigger man nodded in agreement. "That can be left to a priest. They have… methods."

His head snapped up, dark eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion and alarm. "'Methods?'" he echoed. "What kind of 'methods?'"

"Ones that would allow the removal of the possessing soul from the Lieutenant's body without damaging her own, and thus remove the corruption as well." Scar got to his feet, his cup left on the table. "Something such as a _yantir_. Amestrians would call it an exorcism."

For a long, silent moment, all Roy could do was stare. His mouth felt as arid as the air outside, his tongue forgetting its function. When he finally did speak, his voice was as dry as his mouth. "You want to… perform an exorcism. On Lieutenant Hawkeye." It wasn't so much a question as a statement to force the concept into his stunned brain.

Scar's face was as solemn as ever. "It's the most straightforward way I know to clear the possessing soul from her body," he answered, his tone quiet."So that she is no longer _apaavan_. If you'll excuse me, Colonel, I'll see to it that the arrangements are made. Wait here until you're sent for."

"Hold on a second!" He got to his feet, following the warrior to the door. "Let's not jump to conclusions here. Suppose she's not possessed? Is this exorcism – this… _yantir_ – going to have some effect on her?" He watched Scar's hand reaching for the doorknob, and desperation began fluttering in his chest like a maddened bird. "We spent a week in hospital following the Promised Day; could she have picked up some kind of illness that's causing the personality shift?"

When Scar looked back over his shoulder, his expression was as stony and locked-down as Roy had ever seen it. "I understand that you want to believe a measure this drastic isn't necessary," he said calmly. "It's very rare that it is… but I believe this to be a rare case. What has changed your Lieutenant is no sickness of the body. It _is_ a sickness of the soul; her reaction to the blessed sand proves that."

Opening the door, he stepped out into the morning light, his parting words being delivered over his shoulder. "And I don't know about you, Colonel, but I have never heard of a physical illness that changes the eye colour of its victim."

Left with no rebuttal coming readily to mind, Roy stood staring into the dusty street for long moments after Scar was lost to both earshot and sight. Finally, realizing that some of the few passersby were giving him strange looks as they went, he retreated inside and closed the door.

Breathing a deep sigh, one born of fatigue both physical and emotional, he sank onto the low sofa that had been brought in to help furnish the house's small living space. There was nothing he could do, not right now. This new development put the reconstruction plans on hold while Miles and Scar scrambled for answers; perhaps he should take advantage of the time and rest.

Obviously, there was nothing keeping him here if he decided to try and see her. He wanted to hold her, wanted to ask what she was feeling, to try and comfort her… and comfort himself. Roy hated being left in the dark on anything, more so when it came to his subordinates. _Especially her._

He could go to her now, alchemise a way past her guards, carry her off someplace where they could be alone and sort this out…. But he wouldn't. Ishvalans despised alchemy and using it in their holy land would set them against him and ruin all chances for reconciliation and reconstruction. And how could he carry Riza off when she had so easily overpowered him earlier? Sure, he hadn't exactly fought back, but her takedown of him…. There was a strength in that lithe frame that he didn't think had been there a month ago.

As for sorting everything out… how did you sort out the corruption of a human soul when you had no idea where to even begin? He was slowly coming around to the thought that this Ishvalan exorcism idea of Scar's might only be the best option for Ishvalans… not Amestrians. That being said, however, what could he do, aside from his first instinct to abscond with her into hiding until they could sort this out?

His mind still swirling with a dark miasma of confusing thought, he stretched out on his side. Sleep had eluded him all night, and while he had too much on his mind to be capable of truly restful sleep, tiredness dragged at his limbs, making his body feel heavy and his muscles relax.

 _Not so much falling asleep as passing out,_ he thought, allowing his eyelids to close. He didn't _want_ to sleep, but the near-constant bombardment of shock and worry in the last hour had flooded him with adrenaline. Now it was draining away, being slowly replaced with weariness.

 _Close your eyes, relax… but keep thinking,_ Roy told himself. _Make a plan for once you're in a better position on this chessboard, once she's back to within reach. Because she_ will _be. Be ready when she is_.

* * *

RECONSTRUCTION AUTHORITY OUTPOST OFFICE

1647 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

She came back to consciousness in the late afternoon… at least it _felt_ like consciousness. Lying on the sleeping pallet in a dark corner of the room, Riza held still, taking inventory of herself. No sharp aches or pains, no general feeling of malaise, just a feeling of dragging tiredness that pulled at her very bones.

Suppressing a groan, Riza forced herself to sit upright, drawing her knees toward her chest and resting her folded arms on them. She yawned, ducking her head to instinctively hide the expression. Letting her eyes fall closed was a mistake; getting them open again was a task in and of itself.

 _Why am I so tired?_ She hadn't felt this dragged out since the Promised Day, waiting for that first transfusion to make it safe for her to sleep. But she had been out of danger in the blood loss department for weeks now, and there weren't any new wounds –

No, that wasn't quite right; now that she had moved, her left side was aching subtly. Lifting her head, she looked herself over quickly, finding no spreading bloodstains on the homespun desert dress. She pulled the loose collar away, looking down…. Was that some kind of mark on her side? In this poor light, she couldn't tell.

Climbing to her feet, she moved toward the window and the golden light filtering through. As soon as it touched her skin, the warmth was welcome, like being wrapped in a soft blanket. And at the same time, all the tenuous strength went out of her legs, dropping her to the floor.

Riza hit the floorboards with a soft grunt of surprise and pain as the sore spot on her ribs flared at the impact. She clamped her hand to the spot, making the ache flare brighter. Hissing between her teeth, she pulled her dress away from herself again, looking down to the sore spot… and stared.

A vividly purple bruise spread in an inch-wide patch over her ribs, obviously the reminder of some impact but… what? And when? Maybe when she had wrenched herself away from the priest at the temple, the sand still burning her palms? She wouldn't necessarily have noticed a hit to the ribs then… but no. If that were the case, the bruise should have been a darker, deeper purple, not still shot with red. This was more recent.

Reminded of the wounds to her hands, she held them out, palms up. The disconcerting red marks were fainter – much fainter than they had been last night, and certainly not blistered as she had suspected they might be. All in all, they seemed to be healing nicely.

She brushed her fingertips over one half of the starburst pattern… and frowned. She had thought the skin might be heated from the burns, but… wherever the skin was unnaturally red was dead numb.

Riza didn't get much of a chance to dwell on this new revelation before, behind her, the door opened. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding Miles stepping inside, followed by a solemn-faced young man in a warrior's robe. Willing her knees to support her, she got carefully to her feet and turned to face the visitors.

"Lieutenant," Miles greeted her cordially, with a slight inclination of his head. "How are you feeling?"

"All right, I suppose." Something about him felt off to her, but she couldn't quite place what. "I certainly can't say I'm on top form, when I've been sleeping so long." She glanced around the room. "I suppose, when it's dim like this, my body doesn't have the sense to wake up at a normal time."

She caught the small frown as she looked his way again… and finally understood the subtle body language he was giving off. He was holding himself very tightly, as though ready to run or dodge at a second's notice. He was watchful, jumpy, operating on a hair trigger.

Miles was _wary_ of her.

"You haven't been asleep that long," he said, after a long moment had stretched between them. "Only a few hours. You were awake earlier, when Colonel Mustang was here."

"…When was that?" Confused, she stepped out of the warming sun into the shadows again, not missing the way Miles' eyes turned sharp at her movement. "Are you sure I was awake for that?"

"Positive. He came up to see you himself, along with Scar, around eight o'clock this morning." He was watching her intently, expression turning curious. "You don't remember?"

Confusion growing, merging with worry over the gap in memory, Riza shook her head. As far as I know, the last time I saw him was as you were —" She stopped just short of using the word 'dragging.' "— escorting me away from the temple after I burned my hands."

"I see." His gaze travelled to her left hand at her side. "And how are your hands? May I see?"

She stepped closer — noting again the stiffness that came to his body as she closed the gap — and held both hands out, palm up, for his inspection. Almost gingerly, Miles held both her hands in his, critically eyeing the spidery red lines snaking outward from the pinkie-side of each hand.

"Well, it seems they've begun to heal, though it may take a while for the marks to fade."

"They don't hurt," she allowed. "Though there may be some nerve damage; they're mostly just numb. I don't —"

She broke off as Miles' grasp tightened briefly. Before she could ask what was happening, the so-far silent young guard stepped around the Major and snapped a pair of handcuffs around Riza's wrists, a chain in the middle running several feet to the guard's hand.

Riza jerked free of Miles' grip to a cacophony of clinking, instantly alert and bracing for trouble. "Miles, what —" A tug on the chain from the guard stopped her backward motion, and she froze, watching both men with the same wariness Miles had exhibited on entering. "…Major, what's going on."

He shifted in discomfort at the flat-toned question. "Lieutenant, stay calm. We have orders to take you for treatment, but we have to assure our own safety in doing so. If you'll just cooperate —"

"Treatment?" she echoed sharply, not caring that, technically speaking, she was confronting a superior. "Treatment for what, exactly? My hands?"

"For whatever caused the sand to burn you in the first place," Miles answered, hands half-raised in what was likely supposed to be a calming gesture. "Please, Lieutenant, it will only make things more difficult if you resist. If you'll just agree to come along quietly —"

"Does the Colonel know about this?" she snapped, gritting her teeth against the anger starting to swell in her chest. They obviously thought she was some kind of danger; she would _not_ give them the satisfaction of proving themselves right.

"He'll meet us there." Miles took a step toward the door. "Scar is with him, and the Master will be there as well. You won't be in any danger, but please: make it easy on yourself as well as me." He hesitated a moment, then added, "Not to mention that this will all blow over easier without a scene, making the reconstruction progress more smoothly."

She watched him, knowing full well he was right, and that she would do as asked… but wanting to make him sweat a little bit for his victory. Finally, just as an edge of uncertainty crept into those red eyes, she nodded. "Very well, Major. Lead the way."

* * *

They took her through little-used backstreets of the city, mostly to keep her out of the public eye, Riza assumed. To be seen handcuffed one day and helping to spearhead the reconstruction the next… tongues would wag and authority would be questioned, and that could not be well-afforded when the project was just beginning.

Humiliating as it was to walk cuffed and chained like a common criminal, Riza kept her head held high and her eyes forward. She spoke only when spoken to by Miles, keeping a firm lid on her temper that still simmered in the pit of her stomach. She suspected that Roy indeed knew the Ishvalans were attempting to help her, but she knew that showing up in this fashion was going to garner righteous wrath on his part.

She fought down a smile at the thought. Goodness knew she didn't need him to fight on her behalf, but it warmed her heart that he was so willing to throw himself into that sort of fray. The fantasy took shape in her mind: the way those dark eyes would widen as they caught the glint of silver around her wrists, and then the low, dangerous softness in his voice as he asked why _his_ Lieutenant was being treated like a prisoner, followed by the edge of command in his sharpening tone as he demanded her release….

Riza wasn't able to fully stop the tiny smile that spread across her lips. She would have to find a way to thank him for his…. She contemplated what the right word might be…. Devotion, probably.

Miles and the guard led her into an alley-like opening in the side of a high-rising wall, open space visible at the far end. Riza drank in the coolness of the shadows, letting it dispel the shakiness in her knees that being in direct sunlight seemed to cause. An effect of so much sleep, she thought, and possibly so long in that dimly lit room. Once she got reaccustomed to the light, she would —

The thought trailed off as she and her escorts emerged into the centre of a small amphitheater. Tiered seating rose around them, washed by the late afternoon sun and standing empty. Bare, sandy soil covered the ground they walked on, in a flat circle twenty metres across. In the centre stood the priest who had performed the sand blessing, waiting with his hands folded into his wide sleeves, watching them approach.

Riza frowned. Miles had said that Roy, Scar, and Scar's Master would be here, but where — ah. Turning her head to her left, she spotted them, sitting on the lowest level of stone bench seats. Scar had one hand on Roy's left arm, both men watching her intently. Roy looked to have been in the process of standing, now frozen with his eyes on her hands. Three seconds, she estimated, and he would pull free, stand, and her small daydream would be acted out in front of her.

What she did not anticipate was for those dark eyes to meet hers, fill with helpless apology… and then he settled back into his seat.

… _He knew. He knew these were the measures they would take._ Surprise and a new sense of apprehension covered her arms with gooseflesh, a tiny shiver zipping down her spine. _Just how afraid of me are they? And_ why _?!_

Miles stopped her in front of the old priest, who smiled in a fatherly fashion and offered a small bow. "Good to see you again, miss," he said, by way of greeting. "How are you feeling?"

 _That question again_ …. "Confused, mostly," she answered truthfully. "I was told I was being brought for some kind of treatment, though I'm not clear on what." She shrugged, her restraints jingling faintly. "I feel fine."

The old man nodded sagely. "Unfortunately, that is often the case in situations like this, until the problem rears its head again." He dropped his hands from his sleeves. "I take it Miles has not explained to you what a _yantir_ is?"

"…No, he didn't." Her apprehension grew stronger, coiling and uncoiling in a restless ball somewhere around her solar plexus. Was Roy watching this? Had they told him what was going to happen?

The priest nodded again, reaching out to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't look so worried. You won't feel anything. It's a spiritual procedure; nothing invasive." His parental smile suddenly didn't seem so warm as the next words hit home. "I believe the Amestrian word for it is 'exorcism.'"

Riza couldn't help but look back over her shoulder, her gaze finding Roy inside of an instant. That one look was enough to tell her, through his tense posture and the guilt stamped in his eyes that he was well aware of what these people had planned. He knew, he understood… and he was allowing it.

Of all the people in her life that could have sold her out… Riza never would have expected it from him, and that hurt more than the burns on her hands — or back — ever could have.


	18. Purge and Purify

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope everyone had a good week, and that the one just beginning goes just as well. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, coming up with a ritual for a fictional religion. I read somewhere that Arakawa based the Ishvalan religion on Hinduism, since it embodies a lot of the same beliefs. I've filled in a few blanks with Islam to create something a little different; a hybrid, you might say. I hope you guys like it!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen - Purge and Purify**

AMPHITHEATRE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1707 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

She stared at him across the open dirt space, trying to read deeper into his expression from this distance… and not coming up with much. Guilt was there, and also worry, and something that looked like… determination? No; resolve.

The chain attached to the handcuffs around her wrists clinked as the guard holding it bent and attached it to a loop anchor driven deep into the dirt. That done, he nodded deferentially to Miles and moved off toward the edge of the circular space.

The priest watched her closely, hands folded behind his back. "If you're ready, Lieutenant, we will begin."

"Begin _what_ exactly?" she snapped, an uncomfortable feeling of helpless dread beginning to crawl up her back. "You said 'exorcism,' but why?" The priest reached out a calming hand toward her shoulder, and she pulled away, out of reach. "What exactly do you think is wrong with me?"

"The reason the sand burned your hands," the old man explained patiently, "is that something has corrupted your soul. After speaking with your superior and looking through our own libraries for possible causes, the most plausible appears to be possession."

She tried to make the look she gave him a withering one, but knew she only succeeded in skepticism at best, disbelief at worst. "…You can't possibly be serious."

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, I am." He shrugged fatalistically. "You display many of the signs."

Very soon, his way of speaking paternally was going to turn downright patronizing, and Riza could only hope that she would be able to hold on to her slowly rising temper when it did. "And what signs are those?"

"To begin, when you attacked the Colonel this morning, your eyes had changed rather drastically," the priest informed her. "I believe Miles said they had turned from brown to purple, with the slit pupils of a cat or a snake."

"When I _what_?" Turning her head in Roy's direction again, she caught him by surprise. He sat straighter the moment her eyes landed on him, an alert intensity coming to his face, as though he expected to be called on. "I didn't attack anyone; I was asleep for hours!"

The priest nodded sagely. "Gaps in memory are another sign," he said. "Along with mood swings, impulsive behaviour, low energy levels, and of course –" He gestured to her hands. "Being repulsed or injured by holy symbols. Do you deny that any of those apply to you?"

A sinking feeling slowly dropped a heavy weight into the pit of her stomach, mingling with the dread swirling there. The heat and sunlight were making her knees go weak again, and she locked them to keep from dropping to the ground. "No, but –"

"There you have it, then." Turning, he motioned Roy to come forward, still speaking. "If, on the off-chance you _aren't_ possessed, the ceremony shouldn't harm you in any way. If there _is_ an extra soul residing in you, it will be expelled and destroyed." He took several steps away, motioning in dismissal to Miles. "You may have a moment with your superior, and then we will begin."

She watched Roy approach, keeping her expression locked down so that those searching dark eyes couldn't read her. He stopped only a few feet from her, a little closer than prudent distance usually permitted, so that he could keep his voice quiet.

"Are you all right?"

Riza glared.

"…Right. Dumb question." He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Since I pretty clearly don't know what to say, do you want to –"

"Why are you allowing this?" Her voice was softer than his, a venomous hiss that somehow still screamed with frustration and danger. "Do you actually believe what they're saying? That something has… that I'm possessed, somehow?" When he didn't immediately respond, she pressed onward. "You've never put stock in this sort of thing before. Why are you starting now?"

Roy paused a moment, clearly choosing his words…. "I think something _is_ different about you," he said at last, before dropping his volume even more. "But I don't know for sure that it's possession. Do you remember me coming to see you this morning?"

She shook her head. "The priest says I attacked you, but… as far as I know, I last saw you at the temple yesterday." She frowned. "He also said that… when I attacked you… my eyes were different?"

"That room was dark; no one can be absolutely sure of what they saw." He didn't look as though he believed it. "But, you're right, I don't put a lot of stock in religion. Riza, if I'm allowing this…." His look turned meaningful. "Don't you think that it's because I have a plan?"

She eyed him carefully for a moment, turning what he'd said over in her mind. 'A plan' with him could mean a lot of things: stopping it outright, causing a distraction so that she could escape, incapacitating them all so that they could escape together… or allowing the exorcism to go forward, put the Ishvalans at ease, and preserve diplomacy.

Riza took a deep breath. "Trust you?"

He nodded, one hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder; all the physical comfort he could offer right now, in front of witnesses. "Please?"

Her nod answered his. "Even into Hell," she murmured softly.

"I'll be right behind you if it goes that way." His smile was lopsided and only at half-strength, but it helped to bolster her own resolve. Like the priest said, if she weren't possessed, this should have no effect on her; she would see that boyish grin again on the other side of all this.

Roy held out both hands, taking one of hers as though it were a familiar handshake. Riza only wondered what he was doing for a brief second, until she felt the press of a thin, hard object in her palm. She let her lips twitch in the tiniest of smiles, acknowledging what he had passed to her, and he answered it with a minute nod.

Finally, he stepped back, nodded to the priest, then turned and headed back toward the others. The priest approached, hands folded into his sleeves again.

"Are you ready to begin, Lieutenant?"

She set her jaw, her head held high as she ignored the clinking chain fastened to her wrists. "Let's get it over with."

"Very well." Turning, he moved a short distance away to a satchel waiting on the sand. "Remain standing," he instructed over his shoulder. "If at any time you need anything, don't hesitate to say so, and we will accommodate you if possible."

He returned a moment later with a long, thin stick of pale wood, perfectly straight and capped at one end with shining copper. The priest placed the copper tip just forward of Riza's sandaled feet, paused for a moment, then breathed deep.

"Our God Ishvala, I ask your favour on this process here today. As your servant, I bring before you one who needs cleansing, who needs your healing. You are the god of the earth, and only the god of the earth can cleanse the dust of which we are made, and to which we will all return in time."

The words were Amestrian - for her benefit? - but sung in a lilting, haunting style that was very clearly Ishvalan and sent a chill creeping through her stomach like icy fingers. The sensation set off a brief flash of fear in the back of her mind; was that a feeling that happened if you were possessed?

Just as quickly, she clamped down on the worry and banished it, focussing instead on the stick in the priest's hand. He had backed up several feet and begun to walk, slowly circling her, with the copper-plated end of the stick carving trails in the sand. No, not trails… symbols. They were in the Ishvalan language once again, but as he drew each one, the priest continued speaking and Riza began to see the pattern.

"Ishvala, you are the god of earth and so much more. You are a god of mercy, of wisdom, of love, of healing." Here, he paused, went to his knees, and bowed forward to press his forehead into the sand. "By these virtues, we honour you."

He got to his feet, but did not glance in her direction, focussed as he was on his ceremony. Relying on distance and subtlety of movement to hide her actions, Riza took the bobby pin Roy had slipped into the palm of her hand, and inserted it into the lock of the handcuffs.

"You are a god of patience," the priest continued, his stick forming the symbols with practised ease as he slowly circled her. "Of kindness, of truth, of cooperation." He repeated the process of pressing his forehead to the sand. "By these virtues, we honour you."

He continued around the circle, and although Riza kept an outwardly calm face, she could feel nervousness starting to wriggle in her stomach. This was all so alien, so foreign, that it played on her mind. Every innocuous sensation drew her attention, and the brief flash of the thought "What if?" Each time, she quelled it; if Roy didn't believe she was possessed, then she was not.

And yet… would the Ishvalans go to these lengths if they didn't believe she was? Surely a people so steeped in religion knew more about such things than a lone, agnostic alchemist…. Then again, perhaps so much exposure to religion merely created paranoia over things that weren't easy to explain –

"You are a god of loyalty, of promise, of prudence, of temperance. By these virtues, we honour you."

Riza wrenched her attention away from her personal worries to dealing with the handcuffs; whether or not she was possessed, whatever Roy's plan was obviously depended on her being free to move. She kept her eyes on the ground, her focus inward as she carefully felt about with the tip of the bobby pin… _there_.

"You are a god of humility, of generosity–"

 _Carefully, now_. Twisting the pin slowly in her fingertips, she felt it catch in the proper spot, and pushed gently. Not too hard, or the strands of the cuffs would spring open _very_ noticeably….

"–of moderation, of diligence. By these virtues, we honour you."

The strands popped, nothing more than a twitch of the metal, but it meant she was free. Riza looked up at Roy as the priest finished his litany, catching those dark eyes in silent signal. At the same moment, a creeping feeling slid up her back, turning her skin cold and putting that same feeling of icy fingers back into her gut. It was as though the still evening air had gone completely motionless; a presentiment of danger if she ever felt one.

The priest moved to stand in front of her, outside the circle of symbols. "Relax, Lieutenant. With this circle in place, any rogue spirit cannot cross it, but once it's out of your body, you will be able to pass with no difficulty." He indicated the space between when she assumed to be the signs for 'mercy' and 'diligence.' "Simply walk between the sigils. Clear?"

"Yes, sir." She kept her hands folded together and held close to her body, in the hope that less movement would mean her lockpicking went unnoticed.

"Good. Then we'll continue in a moment."

She watched as he returned to the satchel of supplies, before turning her gaze away toward Roy. He was in quiet conversation with Scar, his expression politely curious. Perhaps asking about the ritual, or, more likely, what the next step in the Reconstruction would be once this little obstacle was cleared.

 _Whatever your plan is, I hope it's a good one,_ she thought grimly. How long would it take him to enact it? Just what sort of opening was he looking for? Riza supposed she'd have to keep an eye on him for any sort of signal.

A moment later, from behind her came the distinctive sound of a match striking, and a few seconds after that, a streamer of sharp scent wafted past her nose. Curious and careful not to tug on the chain, Riza turned. The priest was circling the edge of the sigil circle, a ceramic bowl held in both hands with its contents sending pale smoke into the evening air.

"God of the earth, we call you to attend, to cleanse this woman and make her whole once again." The smoke wavered, hanging in the still air in a slowly dissipating trail as he moved. "Return to her her life, her purity of spirit, and drive out the offending soul residing within."

More smoke wafted past her face, the acrid smell beginning to turn Riza's stomach. She clenched her jaw against the nausea, swallowing hard before taking a deep breath. Her stomach gave one more protesting roll, then subsided into quiet unease.

Waiting for Roy to either put his plan into action or for the _yantir_ to be complete, she tuned out the priest's prayers and turned her eyes up to the slowly darkening sky. There were no evening stars yet, though the sky had begun to fade from azure blue to a shade of periwinkle with a touch of purple and tones of pink near the horizon. Riza studied it idly, with the vague thought that the sun set earlier this far east.

"With this smoke, the second step of _yantir_ is complete."

Pulled from her thoughts, Riza dropped her gaze back to the priest, finding him standing directly in front of her. He held the bowl close in front of his face, making his eyes occasionally hard to see through the shifting smoke. Without warning, he blew sharply, sending a cloud across the four feet of distance between them and straight into her face.

The nausea resurged, and this time, Riza couldn't hold on to her gorge. She gagged, reflexively dropping to her knees. Somehow, she retained enough presence of mind to keep the loose handcuffs pressed against her, even as a second retch convulsed her body. It was only when nothing came up but sour bile that she realized she had eaten nothing since that morning.

She was aware, vaguely, of Roy's voice calling her, of a quieter, deeper voice speaking in calming sounds. Roy's words turned snappish, more calming sounds… and then silence as she drew a deep, shaky breath. She spat, ridding her mouth of some of the sick taste, and looked up at the priest. "What was that?"

"Sage smoke." His expression was grim, those red eyes watching her closely. "A common herb for driving out demons or spirits."

Riza felt her gaze turn wary in the face of that critical look. "And since I reacted to it… you believe it's a stronger indication that I'm being possessed by something?"

The priest shrugged, though the gesture did not contain the airy sense it should have. "Reaction to the smoke does not always mean possession," he said without any particular conviction. "Some simply react to it if their stomachs are not strong enough. I have other tests."

He turned back toward his satchel, taking the bowl of burning sage with him and leaving Riza kneeling in the sand, taking careful breaths of the slowly clearing air. When she felt as though turning her head wouldn't result in the world spinning crazily around her, she looked for Roy.

He was on his feet, having been stopped in the act of coming toward her – whether to help her or as part of his 'plan,' she couldn't tell – by Scar's hand on his forearm. The big man stayed seated, red eyes focussed on her and sharp with watchfulness, Miles silent and grim-looking beside him.

Partly to reassure Roy, and partly to reassure herself that the episode was past, she climbed carefully to her feet, standing tall once again.

The priest returned, carrying what looked like a somewhat primitive waterskin, stoppered shut by a cork that he pulled loose as he stopped in between the first two sigils he had drawn in the sand. He began his incantations again, though now he switched to his native language, the unfamiliar words taking on even more of a haunting tone as he worked.

It was not water but sand that came pouring in a thin stream from the skin. Riza watched as, with a short flick, the grains drew themselves into a line stretching inward into the sigil circle, stopping just shy of her feet. Moving along to the next gap, the priest repeated the motion, and another line appeared.

On the third, the sand landed within two feet of Riza's left foot, and she backed away warily, her eyes on the grit. Her rational mind told her that just because sand from a priest had hurt her once before, it didn't mean it would do so again… but the irrational side of things spoke louder, urging her to stay clear.

Absurdly, a memory sprang to mind, one so old that it took her a moment to even realize it was her younger self in her mind's eye. She couldn't have been more than five years old, still walking with a preschooler's occasionally unsteady gait, her small chubby hand wrapped around the first two fingers of her father's.

They had gone for a walk out to the stream that flowed along the back edge of their property, back when her father still did such things, rather than staying shut up with his research. On seeing the sun reflecting off the slow-moving water, Riza had toddled on ahead in the late spring sun, into the soft grass. But the uneven ground and her own inexperienced feet worked against her, and she had tripped, flailing for a moment before falling headlong toward the water….

The memory became strongest with the sound of heavy, running footfalls behind her, and the hand that had grabbed the back of her homespun play dress, jerking her to a stop and leaving her suspended for a moment a mere foot from the water.

Her father had lifted her easily, setting her back on her feet and dusting her off. In his taciturn way, he hadn't said much… but the actions had spoken much louder than his simple words of "Mind the edge, Riza."

She eyed the fourth spray of sand from the skin, her father's words echoing in her ears. _Mind the edge, Riza. Mind the edge._ What would Berthold Hawkeye have said if he could see his daughter now? Suspected of possession, subjected to a ritual of a foreign religion he wouldn't have believed in, still connected to – consorting with – an apprentice whose life choices he hadn't agreed with….

It was in glancing back toward Roy, both for reassurance he was still there and to see if he was any closer to enacting his mysterious plan, that things began going wrong.

The fifth spray of sand sent a fan-shape scattering of grains over her left foot.

Her cry of pain and surprise came out strangled and was abruptly choked off as her throat closed reflexively. When she inhaled sharply, air entered her lungs in a gasp, briefly drowning out the continued, unperturbed incantations of the priest. Riza sank to the sand, one hand going to her injured foot as he flung the sixth spray of blessed sand.

From the sidelines behind her came the sound of harsh muttering and a brief scuffle, no doubt as Roy tried once again to get to his feet, and then began arguing with Scar or Miles as he was held back. She sympathised, really. This was the second time in three weeks she had been in some kind of danger where he was forced to watch – first, with the gold-toothed doctor in the tunnels beneath Central, and now this.

 _It could be worse,_ she thought, her mental tone jaded. _I could be bleeding to death._

The seventh spray sent grains of sand ticking and pattering against the soft cotton of her desert dress, and she gritted her teeth… but no pain came. So it only burned on bare skin, then? That made about as much sense as anything else in this convoluted farce of a ceremony. So far, all this was accomplishing was to injure her further and to make her temper flare.

Maybe… maybe that was the intention? To make her angry? To goad her enough that she would break, lose her temper, and show her true colours. Her true, righteously furious, reporter-attacking colours…. Well, she certainly wasn't going to give them _that_ satisfaction.

Settling cross-legged onto the ground, she took a pair of deep breaths, reaching for the calm and patience she had built her reputation and career on…. Her eyes closed, turning the landscape and its deepening dusk into a black void….

—-

He was watching when her eyes closed, and felt a small spark of pride and hope in his chest. _Yes. Good. Keep your head. Prove to them that you're not the danger they seem to think you are._ Roy wasn't concerned that she would miss the start of his plan kicking off; it wasn't going to be an entirely silent affair, and it was likely she was well aware of that.

There were a few realizations he had had since waking in the early afternoon from his exhaustion-induced nap. The first was that Riza could no more be a danger to him or these people than she could fling herself naked from the roof of Central Command. The second was that if there was something so terribly wrong with her, and that something had been percolating since just after the Promised Day, why hadn't Hayate sensed it and indicated something was wrong? Dogs were supposed to be good at picking on strange things like that, especially when they were as bonded as Riza and her Shiba Inu were.

And thirdly, this was Riza. _His_ Riza, whom he had met when she was all of thirteen and that he had watched grow alongside himself into one of strongest, wisest, sweetest people he knew. And he could _not_ allow this invasive procedure to be visited upon her without intervening on her behalf. _Let it go on for a little while, then shut it down…._

The Ishvalans were already going to be perturbed enough that the ceremony would be interrupted, but Roy wanted to avoid visiting their ire upon himself for that, both to spare himself and to salvage as much of the reconstruction effort as possible.

The quickest way to interrupt the ceremony, he reasoned, was to use alchemy in some capacity. But, once again, to avoid righteous Ishvalan wrath, either he couldn't be caught using it, or else he couldn't use it at all.

One of the simplest ideas that came to mind was the oldest childhood trick in the book: playing hooky. Just replace the age-old words of 'Mom, I don't want to go to school; I have a headache' with 'Scar, I don't want you to exorcise my Lieutenant; watch me pretend to have a seizure.'

Unfortunately, while that might briefly distract those immediately around him, he doubted it would draw the priest away from where he was finishing up his round of sand-flinging. No, if he wanted to grind this thing to a halt, he'd need to forget Scar and the others and focus on hampering the priest directly.

Setting his expression into a well-schooled glare that was pure in-control commander, he pushed to his feet and started across the open space. Anticipating it this time, he moved his left arm out of reach, leaving Scar's grasping hand swiping only air.

"Not this time," he snapped back over his shoulder. "This isn't the way to do things. As long as she's a member of my staff, I have a say in what happens to her, and I say it isn't this."

He tuned out Miles' comment of protest behind him, striding forward purposefully.

The priest heard him coming, but paid him no mind, instead sinking to his knees and holding his arms forward, hands palm-up over the sand with its drawn figures and sprayed lines. Riza still sat in the centre, her eyes closed, her head bowed, her hands folded in her laps. The priest held still a moment, then bowed, keeping his arms straight.

"Colonel, I'm going to begin the next step in a moment," he said, calmly. "You may want to step back."

"I'll step back when I can take her with me," he said firmly. "I haven't been on board with this from the start, and I've seen enough. There was no proper investigation, no medical testing, no proof other than a description from a dusty old book that happened to match what she was going through." He stepped up beside the old man. "When we've exhausted all other possibilities, _then_ I'll consider revisiting this. Until then, I'm taking the Lieutenant."

"The sigils are drawn, the words spoken, Colonel," was the somber answer. "None may enter or leave the circle until the ritual is complete, and even then, only those not _apaavan_."

He didn't reply. Drawing himself to his full height, wondering if pushing this religious boundary was going to destroy the foundation and future he was here to build, Roy stepped forward. _It's worth it for love_ , he thought grimly. _As long as I have her, it's–_

The thought was cut off into surprised silence as his foot, swinging forward for a step, cannoned into an invisible barrier. Momentum carried the rest of him into the inglorious crash, bouncing him back an unsteady step and into the chest of Miles, who had been coming up behind him.

No sooner had Roy found his footing again than the sigils etched in the sandy dirt glowed an electric blue, and similarly coloured light suffused the inside of the circle. Before his stunned eyes, he saw Riza's snap open as the light washed over her.

"I told you," the priest said quietly. His hands had turned palm-inward to the circle, resting lightly against the edge of the cylinder of light. "It's already begun. And once it's begun, there's no stopping it."

Roy couldn't helping looking up, _up_ , along where the cylinder rose toward the darkening sky. The thing was only ten feet high, the top looking ragged and tattered, like the crumbling base of a long-toppled pillar. Light washed over him, over the priest and Miles, like the reflections off of a pool of water, glimmering and ethereal. It gleamed off of Riza's long, loose blonde hair, turning it the palest shade of pastel green as the colours mingled –

It would have been beautiful, but the way she reacted turned it chilling.

At first glance, all she had done was get to her feet, standing still in the centre of the circle, her head up and eyes open… but taking no notice of the glowing light she was immersed in. Slowly, her forehead furrowed slightly, her expression turning worried. Her left hand went to the mostly-healed scar on the side of her neck, her right hand still following even though the handcuffs had been unlocked. Her eyes lifted slowly to Roy's.

 _What's wrong?_ He was opening his mouth to ask the question aloud when she twitched, a full-body jerk that dragged her forward a step, her mouth opening. Her hands dropped to her stomach, grasping the loose fabric of her dress in a white-knuckled fist. Like she had with the smoking bowl earlier, she retched visibly, but nothing came up.

"Hawkeye!" He took a step forward, the light from the cylinder dazzling his eyes up close. Neither Miles nor the priest made a move to stop him, knowing there was no way through the glowing wall. "Hawkeye, talk to me, what -"

"She cannot hear you," the priest informed him, still glacially calm. "There is no sound inside the circle at this stage. And no sound reaches in from outside."

Something with the weight of a large boulder settled onto his chest and into his limbs as he watched Riza sink slowly to the ground, her hands still clutched to her dress, her eyes tightly shut in a pained grimace, her mouth open in what could only assume was a long, keening cry of pain….

And the pain had to be bad, if she was crying out. She hadn't cried out when he had burned her, so this… this had to be so much worse. Roy sank slowly to his knees, reaching out with one hand to press his fingertips against the cylinder's ethereal surface. _So much for getting her out before they could really do anything to her…._ Just like with the attack on her in East City, he was going to be a while in forgiving himself for this.

But only if he couldn't find a way to stop it.

Now that he was touching the thing, Roy couldn't detect any sort of actual material making up the cylinder. It looked and felt solid, something like coloured, super-hard acrylic, but it also had a feeling of… of impossible _lightness_. There was no substance he knew of that felt this way, and he couldn't think of any that might… and that ruled out alchemising a path to her.

On the ground inside the circle, Riza's body finally relaxed, uncurling from the slowly tightening ball she had been in. A small flicker of hope shot through Roy's chest and he leaned forward…. His stomach lurched as he saw her mouth open wide in a scream he couldn't hear, as her back arched with a severity he had never seen before, and her fingers rigidly hooked themselves into the sand.

"There _is_ something in there," the priest observed quietly, his red eyes serious and locked on the writhing woman in front of him. "It is resisting the holy light, being burned by it…. But since it is gone –"

Roy wasn't listening. There wasn't anything _he_ could do, he reasoned. He wasn't the one controlling the ritual, or controlling the cylinder.

Reaching over, he laid his arm crosswise across the priest's wrists… and pushed down, dropping them away from the palely glowing wall. Behind him came Miles' shout of "No!" and the other man caught hold of his wrist, yanking him back.

It was too late. The surface of the cylinder began to dissolve, disappearing at a rapid rate. In the centre, Riza dropped limply to dirt, her body as toneless as a ragdoll's, her hair splayed across her face and the sand beneath her.

Roy felt both his arms seized, felt his body being dragged backward from the circle, and didn't care. Scar was speaking sharply to him, no doubt reprimanding him for interrupting the ritual, but he didn't listen. He kept his eyes on the too-still figure in the centre of the ring, watching as the last few glimmers of dying cylinder winked out.

"Scar." The big man paused in mid-sentence when Roy spoke. "Is she all right?"

"…I don't know."

Something in Roy's stomach lurched, and he recognized it for what it was: fear. Fear for her, the same way it had been in that dungeon of a room underneath Central. _Oh? She stopped moving,_ the maniacal doctor had said with nothing more than professional curiosity. _Dead already?_

 _Dead already?_

Struggling against the two men holding him back was virtually useless, but Roy tried anyway. He tried twisting free by lunging forward, left, right… all to no avail. He felt something wrench in his left shoulder on the third attempt, and had the vague thought that he may regret that movement in the morning.

"Lieutenant, talk to me!" He forced an edge of command into his tone, if only to block out the desperation trying to creep in. This situation, this being held back from her when she lay limp and lifeless on the ground, was too similar, too fresh a painful memory. Surely Scar of all people knew that? He had stood there and watched, four swords pointed at his throat as she lay bleeding –

In the centre of the circle, the fingers of her outstretched right hand twitched.

Roy's heart leapt. "I know you can hear me," he called, less forcefully now that there was at least movement. "It's only professional courtesy to speak when spoken to, Lieutenant."

Her fingers twitched again, then slowly curled into a fist. It tightened, as though testing the muscle strength, before loosening as hr arm drew in toward her body. She stayed silent, visibly testing the motion of her toes, feet, legs…. Finally, with agonizing slowness, she lifted herself first onto one elbow and then into a comfortable kneeling position. All in silence.

The hands holding him back loosened, and Roy shrugged free… but didn't move. She was still so quiet, her head down slightly, like she did sometimes when just waking up but not quite ready to move. "…Lieutenant. Report."

Riza laughed, and the sound dropped a fist-sized lump of ice into Roy's stomach.


	19. Born of Blood

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all had a lovely week, and I wish you all a Happy St. Patrick's Day. I'm hoping to get time to write this week, but I can make no promises - it's a very full week: date night, setup for the two-day run of the murder mystery my husband and I are involved in that begins this weekend, and the shows themselves. So there may not be an update next week, but I will guarantee one for the weekend after._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen - Born of Blood**

AMPHITHEATRE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1815 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

He had heard her laugh softly, nothing more than a two-second low chuckle at some office happenstance or one of Edward's antics. He had seen her giggle once or twice at things Rebecca had said, when they were nothing more than a pair of close female friends having a good time. He had heard the breathless gasps as he had tickled some sensitive spot in the privacy of her bed. But this….

This came from deep within her, mingling hysteria and humour and triumph as she threw her head back. The sound of it sent ice water creeping into his bloodstream and drained the colour from his face; he felt it go. To his right, Scar took a pair of steps forward and to the right, grasping the priest by the back of his robe and dragging him backward, away from the madly laughing woman in the centre of the circle.

Finally, as her burst of humour faded, she was able to speak. "Oh, you poor, well-meaning fools…." Her head came forward, and she got smoothly to her feet. She reached down, loosening the straps of first one sandal, then the other, and casting the footwear aside. "I say fools, of course, because that's what you are. Everyone trying to save the innocent Riza Hawkeye from one fate or another… and all of you failing spectacularly."

She turned to look him in the eye, and he felt his throat tighten as though he were about to scream. He swallowed the urge, but was vaguely aware that if he _had_ made any kind of sound, it would have come out as nothing but a moan of dread.

Her eyes had changed once again from warm whiskey brown to glimmering amethyst purple. His Riza was gone, and in her place was this mocking thing wearing her face and her body. She stood tall and confident, carrying herself with lithe grace even in the simple clothing of the Ishvalan people. He knew he had seen this before, but couldn't think — His left side twinged in recognition and memory.

 _She's got Lust's eyes_ and _attitude. Bad combination_.

The priest was getting to his feet, floundering briefly in the shifting, sandy dirt. He made a brief hand sign in her direction, speaking firmly. "You're not wanted, demon. Begone!"

The look Riza — or the thing in Riza's body — shot him was withering. "Give it up, old man," she said, sounding bored. "Your little performance didn't work. All you did was put the good girl to sleep and bring the bad girl out." She spread her arms in a 'so what? Come get me' gesture. "And now, thanks to that, I've got a nice, firm hold on the reins."

"It can't be," Miles murmured, his tone full of shock and surprise. "How could it not have worked?"

Riza's head turned in his direction, her arms falling to her sides as she smiled. The expression was broad, much more than she would have ever allowed herself. Her teeth glinted in the dim dusk light, the canines visibly elongated. "Ooooooh, somebody _finally_ asked a smart question. Good thing at least one of you still has machinery functioning upstairs."

She folded her arms, her demeanour all smug confidence and self-assuredness. "Let me lay it out for you as basically as I can. You all thought you were dealing with a possessing demon, or some wayward soul that saw pretty little Riza and hopped in for a joyride." She leaned forward, her smile mocking. "Wrong! So you do your little song and dance and play the macho heroes for saving the damsel in distress, but when you try and use an exorcism on something like _me_ , it doesn't work."

"Then just what are you?" Scar asked, his voice level. Roy glanced up at him, and found the warrior standing stock-still, holding himself ready to move at a second's notice.

"As I said, I'm not a demon." The … _creature_ in front of them tossed her head, shaking Riza's long blonde hair back behind her shoulders. "Trust me when I say that I'm something _so_ much worse."

"Homonculus?" Roy hazarded, getting to his feet. He didn't take his gaze off of her, and so caught the glare she threw him. Those strange eyes flashed with hatred — that was a new look as well — at the word, but he pressed on. "You've got the look down pat, if that's what you're going for."

"Don't insult me by comparing me to one of _those_ freaks." She lifted one hand, tapping a fingertip to her temple. "Your Lieutenant's got a nice little stash of memories about them locked away up here, but they were peanuts compared to this. No, Colonel, you're nowhere even close… and I don't have the time to explain it to you." Turning, she started away across the open space, her fingers wiggling in a saucy little wave. "I'll see you later, boys."

Scar's Master stepped forward from her left side. "We're not finished here. We —"

"Oh, honey. Yes, we are." She stopped, looking back over her shoulder at the large man. "You can't stop me, the Colonel can't stop me, your priest, your student, even Armstrong's pet can't stop me. Because when a lady says she's leaving? She's already halfway gone."

Her eyes swung to Roy's once more, and a fresh chill washed over him at the contact. There was nothing in those eyes he recognized anymore; he had stared into them how many times, and yet they belonged to a total stranger. Something vast and deep and hollow opened inside his chest… and then she… _shifted_.

The form of her body seemed to elongate, as though she were attached to a drop spindle and her body were being made into thread. Roy's breath froze in his lungs as he watched, that svelte figure reducing to a thin cord and then shooting off into the shadows and out of sight before any of them could take so much as a step. Behind him, he heard Miles let go of a held breath, a pair of words dropping into the stunned silence like an anvil.

"Well, shit."

—-

SOMEWHERE IN THE EASTERN REGION

1810 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

The man's head came up, like an animal scenting the wind. His footsteps never paused in their easy lope, and his hands stayed on the straps of his backpack, but his mind was instantly far ahead. His connection to the Lieutenant had brightened… and in a way he wasn't entirely familiar with.

Letting the motion of running become automatic, he focussed on the sensations. Smugness… confidence – no, arrogance…. A flash of strong annoyance that didn't quite turn to anger…. And then movement. _Fast_ movement.

A grin spread across his face, his eyes glimmering in the dark with excitement and victory. Oh, she was well and truly turned now, to use the same trick she had seen him use. _Clever girl,_ he thought proudly. _But don't go too far. I'll join you soo–_

He wasn't prepared for the feeling of her mind pressing back against his, and it caused him to trip. He scrambled to maintain his footing under his forward motion, and nearly ate dirt before he could get his feet underneath him again. A questioning aura probed at his mind, and he sent back soothing feelings, the sense of an ally if not an outright friend. The questioning withdrew a little, but not completely, and he sent patience and a silent plea.

There was a moment of hesitation, then assent… but with a hint of warning. Then came patience… patience fading… patience running out. The message was clear: the Lieutenant would wait, but she would not wait long.

The man grinned, and withdrew from the contact. He had been holding back on his use of his powers since he had begun running the night before. Daytime, he had had to rest in the shade of a rock outcropping, but a passing farm transport had unwittingly provided him a ride until sundown. Still, if he wanted to be there sooner, he was going to have to expend a little extra energy.

He allowed his body to elongate into a long string, stretching out over the landscape and moving faster than his feet alone - supernaturally quickened though they were – would have taken him.

Once the sun rose in the morning, he would need to travel more conventionally – shanks pony, as the saying went – but if he could cover enough distance, he would make it to Ishval by midnight tomorrow.

And then the real fun could begin.

—-

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1704 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

The group of them sat around the living room space, either on the single low sofa or on the wide cushions on the floor. The priest had been dismissed back to the temple on leaving the amphitheatre, as had the guard that had accompanied Miles and Riza. Now, it was Roy, Scar, the Master, and Miles, all sitting in grim silence. This time, there was no comforting tea.

The clear, colourless liquor Miles had fetched was strong, burning all the way down. It was reminiscent of gin, and Roy had the impression that it was the Ishvalan equivalent. This went unconfirmed, however, given that there were more pressing topics of discussion at hand.

"The major question is how we intend to find her," the Master was saying. "She was moving east when she disappeared, meaning there are any number of places in the damaged sections of the city where she could hide."

"It would help narrow down the possibilities if we knew what sort of hideout she was apt to look for," Miles put in. "Larger and open, or small and closed in."

"Large and open." Roy's voice was automatic, his eyes blankly on the floor. He didn't look up as the other three men turned to look at him. "She might be taken over by whatever that thing was, but it's clear it has access to her memories. Down deep, she's a sharpshooter, and I'm willing to bet she'll still think like one. She'll want an open space that has some kind of significance and a place to watch it from, preferably high up."

Miles frowned. "What sort of structure could have significance for her here? Someplace she saw in the war?"

"Not significance to her." He looked up, the blank look still stamped in his dark eyes. "Significance to you. To the Ishvalan people. Because if a search is mounted for her, it stands to reason you'll check culturally important places first to make sure they're secure."

"And she would want to mark our movements when we do, to better avoid us," Scar put in grimly.

"Religious sites should be safe," the Master said thoughtfully, one hand stroking his large moustache. "Demons have no entry onto sacred ground."

"She made it pretty obvious that whatever has hold of her is no demon," Roy countered. "If it was, she wouldn't have been able to enter the temple, or the cemetery we visited before we left Central."

"Well, whatever it is, it's got to be _something_ completely unholy," Miles reminded them. "Otherwise the sand wouldn't have burned her." He turned to the Master, seated beside him on the sofa. "Your knowledge of our folklore is the most extensive of anyone here. Does anything come to mind?"

Still stroking his moustache, the older man was silent for a moment. "Prior to her beginning to… change, the Lieutenant _was_ involved in a battle on a grand scale. Had she actually died instead of a near-death experience, I would suspect a vetala, but that does not quite fit this pattern."

Scar spotted the puzzled look on Roy's face, and stepped in to explain. "A vetala is a battlefield demon that inhabits the body of a recently deceased person. I know as well as you do that your Lieutenant survived her ordeal, so I agree: this is something else."

"Naga," the Master suggested, though he was shaking his head slightly. "Half human, half snake? This, I only suggest because of the form her body took as she left, but… it doesn't seem likely."

"Most nagas are born, not made," Miles agreed. "She would have had the power since birth instead of developing it over two and a half weeks." He paused, head tilted to one side in contemplation. "Unless the power was latent and the Promised Day somehow… woke it up, so to speak?"

"I would think the war beforehand would have done that," Scar said. "If all it takes is battle or a near-death experience."

"Perhaps it would help to lay out all the symptoms, for lack of a better word," the Master suggested. "Once they are all in front of us, the solution may present itself."

Roy got up, going to the dining table where he had left some of his personal papers. Getting a blank piece and a pencil, he moved back and chose a new spot next to the low coffee table, settling down to write. The word 'Symptoms' went at the top, underlined and waiting for the list to begin.

"The eyes," Miles said, when no one immediately volunteered information. "Purple, slit pupils, correct?"

Roy nodded, jotting it down next to a bullet point, then added a second note. "She's also been abnormally pale, lately. At first, I thought she was just still recovering from the wounds she took on the Promised Day, but now, I'm not so sure." He looked up. "She underwent two separate transfusions in hospital. Her normal colour should have been back by now, but she was still practically white as a sheet."

The Master leaned forward, his hands folded together and his elbows braced on his knees. "Has she mentioned any other problems? Anything else out of the ordinary that may not have been obvious?"

 _That she was looking to jump me if I so much as breathed in her direction?_ He couldn't admit that. Sure, Scar already knew, but not the full extent of it. The Master was almost a total stranger, and Miles…. If he admitted to a sexual relationship with a subordinate in front of him, the man would be on the phone to Major-General Armstrong before Roy could blink.

"She mentioned that her usual sleep schedule was off-kilter," he said instead. "Though I don't know if that counts? Historically speaking, she's always had a tough time getting back to sleeping normally after a major event. Insomnia is nothing new to her."

"Maybe a secondary column is in order," the Master suggested. "Title this one 'Possible Symptoms.'"

Roy did so, then fell back to thinking. Riza played all of her cards close to her chest, even with him if she knew it would worry him. There was a chance that she might have been holding something back that he hadn't cottoned on to… something that might help crack this particular mystery.

 _Vetala, naga, demon…?_ No, none of those. Nothing fit the pattern… and yet something _was_ wrong. Not just different, but wrong. Was there some psychological disorder that caused the eyes to change colour? Scar had said no _physical_ illness would cause this, but if it were a mental illness –

 _He also said that the sand burning her indicates she's unholy somehow, and the only way to be unholy is a problem with her soul…._ It registered vaguely with him that, a month ago, he would have been quick to throw that idea in the reject pile, evidence or not. Now, after what he had seen, he was more reluctant to disbelieve.

Sensing his thoughts beginning to drift off-track, he gave himself a mental shake. _Think. Anything different…. Pale, upset sleep schedule, sex drive…._

"The anger," he said aloud into the room's contemplative silence. "Since the Promised Day, she's had a hard time keeping a lid on her temper. Like when she punched that reporter at the East City crime scene." He looked to Scar and found the other man already watching him. "You've seen her in action. Even when she was talking me down from killing Envy, she didn't get angry. Upset, yes, but not angry."

Scar was nodding before he finished his sentence. "When I first fought the Elric brothers and she fired on me, she was calm," he pointed out. "She's very fond of them and could have been angry that I attacked them, but she wasn't. Write it down."

He added 'loss of temper' to the confirmed symptoms list, pausing to study it with the eraser tip held between his front teeth in thought. "… Doesn't really look like much, when you lay it all out like this," he commented. A feeling if discouragement niggled its way into his chest. If they couldn't sort this out….

Miles was frowning deeply, his chin propped in one hand. "I'm just thinking," he said slowly, "that Scar said possession was the most likely cause of her soul being corrupted. But there were other options he listed off as well. What were they, again?"

"Murder, rape, or adultery are usually the three most heinous physical sins," was the solemn answer. "Which, even knowing the Lieutenant as little as I do, I know to be completely outside her character." He hesitated a moment, thinking. "I believe I also said 'selling her soul to a demon.'"

The Master shook his head. "That would lead to her being possessed by the same demon, and what happened with the _yantir_ disproved that possibility."

"Same with the theory that she could be an unnatural creation, like a Homonculus." Roy's smile was humourless. "I think she took offense to that suggestion."

"Which only leaves a pact with an otherworldly being," Miles said. "I think that's how he worded it."

Roy felt his face go grey at the same instant as the rest if him went ice-cold. Goosebumps broke out on his arms, his hand tightening reflexively on the pencil. The Master was saying something, and his hearing faded back in enough to catch "– would seem to be highly far-fetched."

"Maybe not as much as you think." His voice came out in a low, dry rasp. Automatically, he took another sip of the liquor in his cup as the other three turned toward him. "I didn't mention it before now because I didn't see how it was relevant, but…."

Silence descended, gaining weight before the Master said quietly, "Go on, Colonel. Take your time, but if you think it'll give us a lead, you need to share what you know."

"Right…." Taking a deep breath, he sat straighter, folding his arms on the coffee table. "You all know that we came East to avoid the blowback after Lieutenant Hawkeye attacked that reporter. But that was only half the reason. The other is that the serial killer we were tracking paid us – well, her – a personal visit."

Miles' eyebrows shot upward, the only sign of reaction in the room. The others were too in control of themselves to give away how they felt. "He confronted you?"

"Not in the sense you're thinking. I'd fallen asleep on the living room couch, and she had done the same in an armchair." He breathed deep, forcing the remembered image to the back of his mind. "I woke up hearing little scuffling noises, and when I looked over –" He had to drop his eyes to his folded arms, gritting his teeth to keep going. "He had her pinned in that same chair. He was… forcing his own blood down her throat."

The Master sat a little straighter, suddenly on the alert. "…Did she…?" He trailed off, but the line of his questioning was obvious.

"Take it?" Roy added. "Yes. She had no choice but to; it was either swallow or choke to death. She was awake while it was happening, and at least partially aware… but from the look I got at her face, I don't think she was fully in control of herself."

He paused, waiting for the Master to voice what was obviously an idea circulating in his mind… and was instead mildly surprised when it was Scar who spoke. "What happened then?"

"…I said… something. I don't remember exactly what, but the killer turned around and separated himself from her. Jumped halfway across the room faster than I ever would have thought possible." He paused for a moment to recall the scene. "We exchanged a few more words, and then he just… bolted. Like she did tonight, he stretched himself –"

He stopped as the Master's face turned grim, dread washing over him in a high tide wave. "…Like she did tonight…" he repeated, feeling thunderstruck. "It was the exact same…. She's…. Somehow, she's like… him…." _Shit_ _, how did I not connect the two before now?_ The obvious answer was the shock of it all, but it did nothing to ease the feeling of his heart beginning to crack and the profound sense of sadness filling his chest and the pit of his stomach. _Dammit_ _, Riza, I'm so sorry…._

No one spoke as the Master stood, taking the list if symptoms with him. He paced the small living area, one hand held to his chin and his eyes on the words. He murmured quietly as he walked, reading the list out loud to himself… until he stopped just behind the sofa. After a moment's hesitation, he looked up, speaking directly to Scar.

The words were mostly a jumble of unfamiliar syllables, except for the last. With one eyebrow raised, the Master asked, " _Pishaca?_ "

Roy heard Miles suck in a breath, the sound full of trepidation. Scar gave little reaction, merely a tightening of the lips that deepened his already somber expression. His reply was just as unintelligible as the Master's question had been, but there was no mistaking the tone of agreement.

"…What's pishaca?" he asked, hearing his own voice as though from far away. "And why don't I like the sound of it?"

With another deep breath, Miles broke in. "A pishaca is a… a kind of creature. Evil in nature, unholy in creation. There are any number of stories about them in Ishvalan theology. Even some like myself, with only one relative to pass on the religion, knows a few of the tales." He hesitated. "They're… flesh-eaters. And blood-drinkers."

Roy had felt himself beginning to warm up from the chill of the first initial shock, but this sent a fresh hit of ice water into his bloodstream. _Flesh-eaters_. The throats of all the killer's victims torn out, gaping wounds showing through to the spine in some. _Blood-drinkers_. The smears of red around Riza's mouth, the toilet bowl filled with the stuff when she finished ridding herself of it.

"What you described sounds a lot like part of the pishaca lore," Miles went on. "It will have bitten the victim once or twice, drinking their blood but seldom killing them. It makes a certain amount of sense, in terms of sustainability: why kill a food source that will replenish itself almost indefinitely?" His lip twisted in distaste. "Once the pishaca has fed a few times, if it wants to create a new pishaca out if its victim, it will… well, it will force the victim to drink its - the pishaca's – blood. All they would have to do is swallow; the act of swallowing the blood indicates acceptance… no matter if it's forced or not."

"Pishaca is our term for it," the Master said, not quite helpfully. "I believe the Amestrian word is –"

"Vampire." If Roy had felt he had any sort of strength, he would have tried to laugh. It would have been a high, hysterical sort of giggle, though, completely un-Colonel-like. "That's impossible."

But there was a voice whispering in his ear, one that sounded suspiciously like Edward. _Greed always said 'Nothing is impossible.' After the Promised Day, can you_ really _disagree with that?_ _The Philosopher's Stone was supposed to be impossible. Homonculi were supposed to be impossible. And they were all too real._

"It's a common scientific principle," Miles said, sounding at least half as stunned as Roy felt. "When you have all facts in front of you, the simplest explanation is usually the closest to the truth."

"It would also explain her reaction to the blessed sand and the lack of reaction to the _yantir_ ," Scar added. "Though not how she was able to gain access to the temple, or that cemetery in Central. An unholy creature such as that shouldn't be able to pass onto hallowed ground."

He tuned out the discussion, unsure of how much more he could stand to hear. It felt like his mind was racing at one hundred miles an hour, but stuck in place. Going nowhere, fast. On one _very_ weird hand, he felt Riza – or the thing in her body – was probably right. _Trust me when I say that I'm something_ so _much worse,_ she had commented, almost proudly… and if there was something worse than a demon, it was probably a vampire.

But on the other, more rational hand, vampires were nothing more than legend. Scary stories, to frighten children or amuse world-weary adults. Roy himself had been amused by such stories, but to find himself actually in one…? Logic nagged at him that there had to be some more logical explanation.

 _Nothing is impossible._ Grudging though it was, he had to admit he was beginning to believe, because of several small facts.

Vampires fed on blood, biting deep and lapping what spilled out… and Riza had had a neck wound that was just beginning to heal. Since he had been blind when the wound was examined, he couldn't say whether the small, circular marks either side of the thin slit over the vein had been there when she was wounded… but he doubted it.

Her wound hadn't opened again in hospital; if it was a bite, it had to have happened then, causing her to bleed so much that Izumi Curtis had to save her from dropping into a coma. There had been a strange smell the night that happened – age and decay – as he was dropping off to sleep. The killer, during his visit in East City had insinuated he could influence the minds of others; if that meant putting them to sleep so that he could suck blood from the necks of unsuspecting women….

It was all making too much sense. The killer, a full vampire already, had entered the room, forced Roy to sleep, and bitten Riza. So soon after that first transfusion, it had left her almost dangerously depleted and struggling to maintain consciousness.

Another thought struck him with a jolt. The morning after their tumble at the Madame's she had nearly fallen into a similar state, but managed to pull herself back out. Was that evidence of a second attack? Miles had said that a pishaca or vampire fed once or twice before trying to turn its victim, and for the attack in East City to come so soon afterward….

 _The act of swallowing the blood indicates acceptance…._ And Riza had swallowed the blood.

The Master was still on his feet, one hand still held pensively to his chin. "Perhaps, at the cemetery and temple, her process of… _changing_ was not yet complete. I take it, Colonel, from your reaction to it, that you had not noticed her eyes change colour before?"

Roy shook his head, pulling himself out of the deep well of his thoughts.. "No. And she's never had an attitude like she did when the _yantir_ ended. If those are some of the final indicators of the… the _change_ , then maybe gaining them means she's affected more strongly by religious icons and sacred places." He frowned, his mind still turning over pieces of this particular puzzle, trying to make them all fit together. "Although… it would also mean that the serial killer – assuming he's a vampire as well – was either only partially changed when he confronted her in the cemetery… or he found a way around it."

"Either way," Scar said, voice low and serious, "this new development presents an entirely new set of circumstances that we're going to have to deal with."

Glancing sharply in his direction, Roy tried to read the other man's face… and failed. His expression was locked down more tightly than a bank vault. "And when you say 'deal with,' you mean –"

"As non-destructively as possible," the warrior assured him, managing to sound very non-assuring. What went unsaid was the insinuation that a non-destructive option might not be possible.

—-

EASTERN DISTRICT, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

2017 HOURS, APRIL 22ND

The rooftop terrace had once been a spot for relaxation, conversation, and fellowship. Now, the square tiles were so sun-baked that they were cracked and the wicker furniture was in shambles, its padding threadbare, completely faded, and splitting open along worn seams. Plants that had once been green and decorative now lay brown, ugly, and bone dry in their cement pots.

None of that mattered. She hadn't chosen the place for creature comforts; she had chosen it for the windowless room beneath the terrace that would keep her out of the hated sun. Or rather… she paused, her head tilting to one side as she contemplated the feeling. No, it was the feeling of weakness brought on by being in the sun that she hated. Riza had never liked feeling weak, and now that she had this feeling of strength, she was even more reluctant to let go of it.

Taking a deep breath, she stretched, lifting onto her toes and raised her arms to the stars overhead, revelling the feeling of her muscles drawing themselves out. About the only thing that felt this good was sex with –

She froze… then sank back to stand with her hands on the low wall around the terrace edge, purple eyes scanning slowly over the decrepit marketplace below. A part of her _wanted_ to care that Roy was probably worried, but the majority of her just couldn't be bothered. The man was going to feel what he was going to feel, and she had no say in the matter.

What she _did_ have a say in was how she handled the presence she could sense approaching from the west.

He was coming fast – and it was definitely a he – and sending mental messages on ahead of him, all of them targeted directly at her. No words, just impressions of feelings: proximity, patience, hurry, reassurance, eagerness….

She had remained aloof for now, knowing he could sense she had noticed him, but not responding in kind after that first contact. An instinctive crawl up the length of her spine warned her to keep her distance as much as possible: he was responsible for this change in her, she was sure of that, but that didn't mean she owed him anything.

Climbing up onto the wall, with no fear of falling, she laid down, her eyes on the sky. One couldn't see stars like this in the city, and despite three nights of travel on the way out here, she never got tired of looking at them. Peace, freedom… shelter. That's what they represented to her - a break from daylight, the ability to move around with no limits… and blessed quiet from an all too noisy world.

Folding her arms behind her head, Riza smiled, running the tip of her tongue over her teeth, probing gently with it at the tips of her extra-pointed canines. Bradley had called her 'Mustang's dog' on the Promised Day; ironic, since the dog now had fangs with which to bite. Thankfully, she hadn't had them during that last little tryst in the back of the truck; her dirty little secret would have been exposed too early if she had perforated her bed partner.

Ah well. Things had worked out so far; and with her new power, new abilities… Riza intended to keep that lucky streak going.


	20. Hunting the Hunter

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm sorry for the delay; it was two busy weekends in a row, and I had no time at all during the week to write, followed by just a really bad week. If you follow me on tumblr, you know all about it. Someday, I'm going to just get a hotel room somewhere in the city and spend the entire weekend doing absolutely nothing but recharging my mental batteries and writing fanfiction. But I'm back, feeling better, and I'm ready for you to enjoy Chapter Twenty!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty - Hunting the Hunter**

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS, CENTRAL CITY

0843 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

Breda hung up the phone, sitting back in the chair with a frown of deep thought and a tingle of unease in the pit of his stomach. The call had not gone as he had anticipated or hoped… and that did not sit well with someone as used to thinking three moves in advance as he was.

"It could just be that there's a problem with the lines out to Ishval," Fuery suggested. He had pulled a chair over from the phone kiosk to the left so that he could listen to the call, and still sat leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "They were only meant to be temporary ones, just until the military could run long-term lines out there."

Despite the plausibility of his explanation, he didn't sound confident.

"Yeah… but with the information we've got, I don't want to take chances." Breda folded his arms over his chest, still watching the phone with a concerned and perplexed frown. "Did Rebecca or Falman say whether they had had any luck getting in touch with them?"

Fuery shook his head. "Rebecca said that Riza had called her the day before they left, and promised to touch base once they got to Jadad, but there was no word after that." He shifted nervously in his chair. "You don't think that… well, maybe something went wrong with the truck? Like it broke down, or they had an… accident?"

"Hard to have an accident when the landscape is flat with hardly anything to run into," he answered dryly. "As for mechanical trouble, they're both resourceful enough to either fix anything that went wrong. If they had to abandon it, they would hike to whichever was closest - Jadad, or some Amestrian settlement." He rocked the chair back, still thinking. "If it were Jadad, and we can't get through, then neither can they. An Amestrian town wouldn't have the same problem."

He dropped the chair back to all four legs, and got to his feet with a stretch. "All things considered, if the Promised Day didn't kill them, a three day drive won't either. Once we can re-establish communications with Jadad, I bet you anything they'll be there and already hip-deep in work."

Fuery caught up quickly, falling into step beside him as they left the communications centre. "And what about the message we were trying to get to them?" he persisted. "They still need to know about that."

"We also still need to tell Grumman," Breda pointed out. They emerged into a hallway, joining the pedestrian flow of soldiers arriving for the start of the work day and the few tired-eyed night shift workers heading for the exits. "If we can't reach the Colonel or Lieutenant, Then he takes precedence."

They ducked into a stairwell, climbing toward the third floor of the half-demolished building. Tarps flapped gently along one side of the structure where it would otherwise be open to the bare and blasted parade ground and what had once been neatly maintained lawns. The cleanup alone, to make things restoration-read, had taken a week and a half, with the rebuilding only just getting underway.

Breda caught a glimpse past the tarp as they started up the second-to-last flight of stairs – the sky was overcast with the promise of rain, the air already thickening slightly with accumulating humidity. _The kind of weather the Boss hates_ , he thought idly. _Just as well he's not here._

The outer waiting room of the Office of the Führer-President was deserted when they arrived. A pair of empty couches faced each other over a glass-topped coffee table, with a single desk sitting just inside the doors. Breda glanced over as they passed, noting a few particular details on it that marked its most recent occupant. Paper with familiar handwriting, an empty dog bowl tucked out of the way in the foot well, and the brass nameplate reading '1st Lt. R. Hawkeye.'

Fuery knocked twice on the tall, wooden double doors at the far side of the room, waiting for the confirming call of 'Enter!' before grasping the long brass handle and pulling the heavy panel open.

It was clear, from the moment they entered, that they were walking in on another conversation. Grumman watched them enter, seated in silhouette against the window behind the large desk. Standing in front of it, his hands folded behind his back and looking back at them over one shoulder, was Alex Louis Armstrong.

Both newcomers paused in the doorway to salute. "Sorry if we're interrupting," Breda said by way of greeting. "We can wait outside if –"

"Nonsense," Grumman interjected, waving away their formalities by beckoning them forward. "I suspect we're all discussing the same thing, here." He nodded in Armstrong's direction. "The Major here was just updating me on the situation with Mr. Collins of the Central Times."

Fuery winced. "Is he going to press charges? Lieutenant Hawkeye said she sent a letter of apology to his office, but–"

"She won't be charged," Armstrong rumbled, his face composed but his eyes twinkling lightly with humour. "I spoke to Mr. Collins' editor and it appears that the reporter received a rather strong backlash from his coworkers. Something about 'pushing the envelope' and 'starting trouble' with 'still-healing soldiers."

Grumman was openly grinning, his fingers laced together under his chin. "Perhaps Mr. Collins will be wise enough to learn from this mishap to keep his mouth closed and his ears open, instead of the other way around. This does come as a relief, though. We'll add it to the list of things to be communicated to the Colonel at our next check in. Speaking of…."

Grey eyes settled on Breda and Fuery, his expression turning expectant. "How did things go this morning?"

"They… didn't, sir," Fuery admitted. "That's why we came to see you. The temporary phone lines that East City ran out to Ishval last week appear to be down."

The new Führer-President went very still, his gaze boring into the two younger men. "Down," he repeated, his tone carefully neutral. "Down how?"

Fuery faltered under that stare, the one that had been subduing unruly soldiers and insubordinate officers for decades. "I'm… I'm not sure what you mean, sir…. If they're down, they're down. They're… not working."

The expression softened, Grumman's hands lowering to rest, folded, on the desk. "I'm sorry, with both of them in unfamiliar and politically restless territory so soon after being wounded… I had hoped to rely on our communications to make sure they stayed as… recovered as they seemed to be." He smiled, though it wasn't much more than reflexive. "When you say 'down,' do you mean temporarily or permanently?"

"Temporary, for sure," Breda put in. "I think our next move is to have East City try and establish radio contact with Jadad, instead of telephone."

Fuery was nodding in agreement. "The signal will be scratchy, but it should at least be understandable. We'll have to give Rebecca a message of everything we want to say, and have her take down all of the Colonel's and Lieutenant's responses." He shrugged. "It's not exactly the fastest or smoothest way to share information, but given the circumstances…."

Grumman was already nodding. "It's at least more of a plan that we had a moment ago. The only question remaining is what information we would like relayed." He looked back to Armstrong. "The news of Mr. Collins, of course, but is there anything else? Any news of the East-Central Slayer?"

"Unfortunately, there is." Breda had gone from optimistic to grim in a matter of seconds. "Rebecca got in touch this morning to update us; that's how we knew that the lines to Ishval are down. Things out there have taken a bit of an unexpected — and suspicious — turn."

Leaning back in the carved wooden Presidential chair, Grumman's face was composed, but with more than a hint of resignation. "Don't they always," he murmured. "Go on; what's happened?"

"Well… if you remember, sir, the last contact anyone had with the killer was when he robbed the blood bank at the East City Military Hospital," Fuery began. "He stole six pint jars of blood in varying types, killed a male nurse who caught him in the act and a guard who tried to stop him leaving, and then disappeared. He hasn't been seen in the city since then."

"Bizarre sort of thing to steal," Grumman murmured.

Armstrong was frowning as he absorbed the information. "What was the date of that last attack?"

"April 21st. Two days ago." Fuery paused a moment to let that sink in before adding, "The last time he took a longer break between killings was when he murdered the hospital administration clerk here in Central and then moved on to East City."

The large man eyed him thoughtfully, blue eyes watchful above his moustache. "And you believe that the reason there have been no attacks since the 21st is because the killer has migrated once again?" Fuery nodded. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

Breda and Fuery both shook their heads, but Grumman got to his feet, beginning to come around to the front of the desk. "There is some… information I've not yet shared," he said grimly. "I was keeping it to myself for now, in the hopes that the fewer people knew about it, the less risk would be posed to the Colonel and Lieutenant."

He stood with his hands behind his back, grim in the morning sunlight coming through the window. "The reason for the two of them going on to Ishval was only in part due to the threat of legal action by Mr. Collins. That is the part I told you, because the other is… much worse." Grey eyes flashed in warning. "What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, except to inform the rest of the investigative team. Am I clear?"

At the three nods and murmurs of 'yes, sir,' he continued. "It would appear that Lieutenant Hawkeye has caught this killer's attention. When or how, I do not know – I don't think even she knows the answer to those questions. She and the Colonel were staying in my old apartment in East City for the duration of their investigation there, and in that time… the killer sought them out, broke in, and caused a… confrontation."

The blood drained out of Fuery's face at the same time Breda's jaw clenched. Armstrong's moustache bristled, his blue eyes wide. "Are they all right?"

"Physically, yes." Behind his back, Grumman clenched his left hand tightly around his right wrist to keep himself calm. "The attack was mostly focussed on Lieutenant Hawkeye, and, strangely enough, involves blood." He took a deep breath before saying, "He forced her to drink his."

Somehow, Fuery's jaw didn't wind up on the floor, although it tried mightily. Breda swallowed hard, looking sickened, and brief flashes of shock, sympathy, and anger crossed Armstrong's face so quickly that catching them all was difficult. The big man was the first to regain his power of speech.

"And did she… get rid of it?"

"After he was chased away, yes. I'm told she was so disgusted by it that she vomited almost immediately." He shook his head wearily. "Though if this is the perverse purpose he puts his own blood toward, I shudder to think what his plans for the bottles he stole is."

Breda gave a full body shudder, shaking himself back to reality. "I can see why you didn't want to tell us, sir. It's like something out of a horror story."

Beside him, Fuery went still, his shoulders stiffening and eyes widening. "…Say that again."

"'…It's like… something out of a horror story?'"

Recognition dawned in the young man's eyes, his gaze introspective as he nodded slowly. "That's because it is. A vampire forcing a victim to drink his — the vampire's — blood… that's straight out of classic vampire lore. It's called a baptism of blood; it's how one vampire turns a new one." He grinned sheepishly, coming back to the present as he glanced around at the other three, all of them staring at him. "…I read a lot of monster stories as a kid."

Breda's expression turned skeptical. "That's the key word here, though, isn't it? Stories?" He shook his head. "This guy is just… a guy. Somebody who's probably read the exact same stories you did, and is just cracked enough to believe that he's an actual vampire, so he tries to act like one."

"Stories, perhaps," Armstrong rumbled darkly, "but I know for a fact that monsters are real." He reached up, rubbing at his left shoulder, still tender from where it had been dislocated on the Promised Day. "I fought one on the Promised Day… and served another in the military for several years. I'm not above believing that the monsters in cautionary tales could be real; the ideas had tom come from somewhere."

"Usually folklore, dreamed up by scared people to explain the unexplainable," Breda countered. "I'll agree that monsters do exist; I can't deny the existence of the Homonculi or their Father. What I'm saying is that there's got to be a better explanation than some pointy-toothed bloodsucker, or at least some kind of proof."

"After hearing all the accounts from Central on the Promised Day… after have my own soul ripped out and then slammed back home by a mystically evil being I've never even seen…." Grumman moved to lean back against the desk, folding his arms over his narrow chest. "After all that, I think I'm willing to come down on the side of belief."

Breda still didn't look convinced, but Fuery spoke up before he could voice his skepticism. "So if this guy is some kind of vampire, and if he turned Lieutenant Hawkeye before she left for Ishval…. Could he be going after her? And stealing the blood for…." He swallowed hard in distaste. "For… provisions until he reaches Jadad?"

The room went deathly silent for a long moment, before Armstrong spoke. "…It might be best to have East City establish radio contact with Jadad as soon as possible."

* * *

EAST CITY MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

0953 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

She sat with her shoulders hunched beside the radio receiver, headphones clamped to her ears with both hands and a frown etched into her face. Rebecca shook her head, hearing the padding over her ears creak with the movement. "Still nothing, try again."

Beside her, still tired from a hurried day and night of train travel, Falman inched the frequency dial over notch by notch, his other hand holding his own headphones tightly against one ear. "We're going to have to start going backward along the frequencies before much longer. There might be a dust storm somewhere between here and there that's scrambling the signal, or –"

"Wait a second, go back a little! I think I heard something."

A second later, a fuzzy signal dissipated most of the white noise, occasionally disappearing back into static. " _…tention, Eas…uarters…Jadad Cen…tions…se resp…._ "

Rebecca bounced once in her seat in happy victory, causing Hayate to lift his head from the floor beside her chair. "Yes!" Leaning forward to the microphone, she pushed the button for transmission. "Jadad Central Communications, this is East City Headquarters. We copy, but you've got bad static."

There was a short pause, then, " _…opy, East Cit…. you know…ry offic… name…keye?_ "

She could feel the happy triumph of just seconds before fading into worry. Exchanging a glance with Falman, his own concern writ large on his face, she leaned toward the mic again. "…Yes, we do. We're actually calling to talk to either her or Colonel Mustang." A brief pause. "The phone lines were down; this was our only option."

The pause from the Ishvalan end continued for another moment, before was a crackle louder than others and a new, deeper voice sounded. " _…ecca?_ "

She relaxed slightly, although not much. "Right here, Colonel. Falman, too."

" _…ood. Could u… elp._ " There was another pause, and when he continued, Rebecca suspected it had been because Mustang was taking a calming breath. " _Hawk… n't here…. ng happ… took off._ "

"'Something happened and she took off?'" she repeated softly to herself. Casting a look at Falman, she found him looking back at her with equal puzzlement.

"That's out of character," he said, just as quietly. "Lieutenant Hawkeye never just… 'takes off.'"

Rebecca turned back to the microphone. "Colonel, do you know where she is? We have a message we need to get to her. It's urgent."

" _She…mewhere ins…ity… ot sure whe…. ive me… sage, I'll… et it… when… ind her._ " There followed a moment of hissing static, and then, " _…ave mess… too._ "

Her frown deepened, not understanding the last few words past the obscuring bursts of static and white noise. Either the Colonel had a message as well… or just a mess. With Riza having gone off 'somewhere in the city,' it could be either one. "Go ahead, sir," she said, reaching for the notepad and pencil she had brought with her. "What's your message?"

" _…eason t… eve… iller migh… pire. I… eird…est… lanation….… bit Hawk… rned her… too.… ried to… rid of… n't work. She… ent pers… not… at all_." He paused for a moment, then added, " _With… o far?_ "

Rebecca looked down at what she had scribbled hastily as he spoke. ' **Killer, vampire?, bit Hawkeye, turned?, tried get rid of didn't work, different person.'** "I think so. Did you say she's a different person? Not herself at all?"

" _…es….off aft…failed… een since….Grumman we're…looking… city… on't think… find unle…want…be fou…._ "

"Got it." Jotting down the last note, she read it over again. 'Took off after failed' - presumably he meant whatever they had tried to get rid of a vampire curse - **'tell Grumman they're looking, in city, don't think find her unless wants be found.'**

" _…at's y… age_?"

Falman jumped in as Rebecca started writing out her short notes into something more intelligible. "Grumman told everyone about the attack on you in East City," he said, speaking slowly to combat the static. "Fuery figured out the vampire angle as well. The last attack was two days ago –"

The radio spat static, causing him to pause, and Mustang spoke again. " _Fue…igur… out?!_ "

"Yes, sir. And the last attack was at a hospital. The killer stole six bottles of blood and killed two staff members before he escaped." Silence, but for a faint buzzing on the airwaves. "We think he might be –"

" _He…ing here._ "

Falman grimaced; for having been hurled headlong into this – the strangest of strange cases – with little to no warning, he was handling it remarkably well… but his own weariness was wearing on his ability to keep up. "Yes, sir. We think he might be."

There was yet another momentary pause, and when Mustang's voice came back, it was all business. " _Than…eads-up.…wha… can… ind Hawkeye…. Get…ssage to…man, check…tonight.… lines down… don't… ike it.…eep search… you know…ind her._ "

Either the static was clearing a little bit, or Rebecca was beginning to understand static-speak. "We copy. East City out."

Both she and Falman sat back, pulling off headphones and laying them on the desk. Rebecca rubbed a worried hand across her forehead, massaging the beginnings of a headache. "I suppose we ought to call back to Central and bring the others up to speed," she muttered. "Though how we're supposed to present this vampire stuff with a straight face, I don't know."

Falman's usually sober expression was grave. "I believe it," he said quietly. "I fought beside the Homonculus Greed on the Promised Day, and I watched Bradley take apart a tank, Captain Buccaneer, and a Xingese warrior with no more trouble than swatting a determined mosquito. If a being such as that exists, who's to say that vampires can't?"

A chill crept up Rebecca's spine, and she only barely suppressed a shiver. Getting to her feet, she picked up her notepad and started toward the door. "Either way, we have a job to do. Let's just hope we're wrong in thinking the killer could be headed farther east."

* * *

CITY OF JADAD, RECONSTRUCTION OUTPOST OFFICE

1015 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

Roy pushed open the door and stepped into the dim, cool interior of the house-turned-office. Barely ten in the morning and already the sun was promising high warmth from a cloudless blue sky. Roy took that as a good sign; maybe such bright sunlight would force Riza to stay put in whatever hiding place she had found.

 _And maybe it'll prevent the killer from getting here much faster…._

Miles looked up as Roy entered, his smile reflexive and not much more. "Did you manage to get through?"

"Barely. The temporary phone lines are down, so we had to rely on radio contact, and the static was pretty strong." He pulled a folded piece of notepaper from its place tucked into the waist sash of his Ishvalan tunic. "This was the message relayed to me through East City, from our new Führer-President."

Frowning studiously, Miles read the shorthand notes out loud as though for clarification. " **'Last killer attack negative two d.'** Two days ago?" He continued after a confirming nod. " **'Stole blood, nothing since. Poss. coming here.'** " He grimaced. "And if our vampire angle is correct, that blood will sustain him until he reaches here, and perhaps both him and the Lieutenant when he does."

Roy's stomach flipped sickeningly at the thought of her drinking more blood, this time voluntarily. "I don't think that's our biggest issue at the moment. The fact is that he's probably already on his way and if so, he's likely almost here. Two vampires in a city full of unsuspecting civilians?"

"It will be like letting two wolves into a pen of sheep," Scar put in, descending the stairs from the second floor. "Which leaves us with three options: lie in wait for the killer to arrive and bring him down when he does, find Lieutenant Hawkeye and make sure she can't or doesn't attack anyone, or… find her and wait for the male vampire to turn up and corner them both at once."

The sickening flip subsided to an uneasy rolling. "Use her as bait?"

"In a sense." Red eyes went toward the large map pinned to one wall of the main room. "The trick is finding her."

Mentally ordering his insides to get a hold of themselves, Roy turned toward the map, studying it as he approached. Symbols on a variety of colours covered most of the westward section of the city, next to tiny printed reference numbers beside each building. With more refugees trickling into the city every week, what had begun as a small 40-acre inhabited zone had spread to roughly a quarter of the city have at least some population.

Of course, that still left three quarters unpopulated.

His arms folded loosely across his chest, Roy ignored the habitable zone, and focussed his attention on the areas left free of such markings. "How many locations of significance are there in this open part?"

"Dozens," was Scar's grim answer as he joined him. One large, calloused hand lifted, pointing out different spots. "Temples, marketplaces, schools, a seminary, parks, courthouses…." He frowned. "Although you mentioned she would likely have to avoid religious sites."

Dark eyes scanned the enigmatic clusters of two-dimensional buildings. "I know it's a lot… but would you mind marking those kinds of places off? I don't know if we can figure out exactly what sort of place she would look for… but we should at least try."

Silently, Scar retrieved a marker from Miles' desk, returning to begin tracing the outlines of certain buildings with the red felt tip. Roy studied each one, comparing it to mental criteria and either dismissing it as a choice, or keeping it in mind.

The whole process took nearly half an hour, in which Miles disappeared briefly into the office's small kitchen and returned with small, steaming cups of strong coffee. Even with cream and sugar added to negate the bitterness, Roy was forced to cough in surprise at the first sip.

Getting himself under control, he turned back to the map as Scar took a step back with a satisfied nod. "All right. So if we exclude temples that still gives us…?"

"Fifty-seven possible locations." Scar gave him a sidelong glance. "If you're certain she'll look for a significant and public place."

Roy nodded firmly. "I'm almost positive. It's Sniper 101: get high up with a good vantage point over as wide an area as possible with as little ground cover as possible. That being said, if the building is under two storeys, she'll avoid it."

Miles joined them, holding a clipboard full of building reference numbers. Both he and Scar set to work, checking the heights of red-traced buildings and either putting a red line through them or leaving a red dot in the centre. In the space of ten minutes, all selected sites went from potential to 'probably not' or 'possible.'

Looking over, Miles lifted an eyebrow. "Next?"

Roy had spent the checking period planning the next round of cuts. "Any place surrounded by other buildings or that you know to have more than, say, two windows per wall." He shrugged. "It's a pretty common trope that sun and vampires don't mix well."

Miles nodded as Scar turned back to the map. "I noticed something like that as I was escorting her to the _yantir_. She seemed… perhaps a little groggy or disoriented, a little bit shaky in the knees. Not quite the dramatic bursting into dust and ash that some legends describe, but I think all of us would rather that didn't happen."

Silently quashing the little flutter of panic in his chest at the thought of that particular possibility, Roy forced a smile. "I think you'd be right. How many possibilities are we down to now?"

Scar was another moment in answering, murmuring when he did. "Twenty-six. Any other thoughts?"

Roy thought for a minute, then said, "Any place with religious significance. Temples and cemeteries, like we said before, but you mentioned a seminary as well?" The other man nodded. "I wouldn't expect her to go to close to that either. Any place for religion or the teaching of religion likely won't feel too welcoming to her."

Those subtractions only took a moment. "Twenty-one left."

"It would be best if we could narrow it down to under ten or just over," Miles said, his eyes on the map. "If we search those locations and don't find her, we can add possible sites back in little by little until we do."

Nodding agreement, Roy ran through the criteria in his head once again, trying to find something he had overlooked, something he may have missed that was preventing the selection from being pared down any farther…. "What about… any places that might see use sooner than the others? Places close to the inhabited zones that are maybe a little better off and might have Reconstruction workers visiting them at any time?"

"Ah." Miles consulted the clipboard list, looking closely at the column that told of a building's current state. "I can see eliminating… perhaps nine such buildings. Leaving us with a total of twelve possibilities farther into the city."

Scar handed him the marker, allowing him to take over crossing out the buildings they no longer needed. "Twelve is more of a workable number than fifty-seven," he agreed. "The temple can lend us some of their apprentices to help with the search."

Roy took a deep breath, still watching the map. Somewhere, in that open section, in one of those red-traced buildings, was Riza. A Riza who needed his help, needed to be found, needed to be brought home…. He just had to find her. "And will it be find-and-detain, or find, observe, and report?"

The two Ishvalan men exchanged a glance. "I think… it will depend on the situation, sir," Miles finally said, his tone careful. "If, when she's found, if they come upon her unnoticed… I would think that all they would need to do is report where she's gone to ground and keep an eye on the place until a new plan is formed." He hesitated briefly. "But, if she attacks outright, then whoever is on the receiving end will have no choice but to defend themselves."

It certainly wasn't the ideal situation, but Roy had a feeling it was going to be the best he could hope for under the current circumstances. "Agreed. Make sure the searchers know, then, that stealth is going to be an asset." The smile he cracked wasn't a full one, but it at least took most of the grimness out of his wry comment of "I'd really rather not have to find a new assistant."

"We'll do what we can, sir," Miles promised.

Scar had already taken a few steps away from the map on the wall toward the low table that served as his desk. Reaching down, he picked up three small packets. "If stealth doesn't work, these may buy time to either get away or prepare a defense." He kept one small canvas pouch for himself, and handed the remaining two to the others. "Based on vampire lore in the Ishvalan archives, these should be enough to at least give one of them pause when attacking."

Roy turned the little bundle over in his hands. "What all is in here, exactly?" The thing didn't have a strong smell, but what little there was was not exactly… appetizing.

"A combination of blessed sand, a holy rune of protection cast in silver, and three flowers of the garlic plant." Scar unwound the long string wrapped around the neck of his pouch, slipping it over his head so that the little bag rested halfway down his chest. "I can't promise it will completely repel a vampire, but they won't be anxious to get near it."

Putting his own pouch — or, protection charm, he supposed — around his neck, Roy glanced down at it once, then looked away. His eyes fell on the map.

"Let's get one of these made up for each member in the search party," he said, "and then get to it. Keep them in pairs, for safety's sake, and make sure they know what to do and what to look for. It's better to do this during daylight, so when there's an hour left until sunset, if we haven't found her, we'll pull them all back and regroup for tomorrow. Fair?"

Scar and Miles nodded grimly, and the curl of worry Roy had felt earlier now settled as a slowly shifting ball of uneasiness in his stomach.

The hunt was on.


	21. Hidden Danger

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all had a good week. Not much going on, so I'll just leave you with Chapter Twenty-one. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-one - Hidden Danger**

UNINHABITED SECTOR, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1323 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

The search didn't get underway until afternoon, just after a hasty midday meal. With the stress and distraction of the last day or so, Roy hadn't been interested in any kind of regular meals, and so hadn't much noticed the food in front of him when he did eat.

Ishvalan food, he was coming to realize, was as no-frills and hearty as the people, with an exotic flavour and a heat that lingered pleasantly on the tongue. Whatever spices went into the good, simple food, he would have to find out; he was no great shakes at cooking, but perhaps he and Riza could make a study of it together….

Of course, he had to find her first, and get her back to her old self.

And so, he set off alongside Scar into the bright sun of early afternoon, carrying a scaled-down copy of the city map on the Reconstruction office wall, with three locations to be scouted circled in red. At last, there was something to do, some affirmative action to be taken, rather than planning or waiting to be instructed.

"Scar," he began, his eyes on the dust-swept street ahead, "I want to thank you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the larger man look his way, and pressed on. "That you're going to these lengths to help an Amestrian soldier, one who took part in the civil war…. You didn't have to get involved like this. I appreciate it."

The other was quiet for a moment, then said, "It isn't the first time I've done so. Or the first time I've been thanked for it."

Roy lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I didn't have to help stop you from destroying the Homonculus Envy out of vengeance," he pointed out. "But as I told Edward Elric, I know what vengeance does to a man, and I knew your skills would be needed elsewhere. Such as here."

When Roy looked over, somewhat shamefaced at the reminder, he was surprised to find the corner of Scar's mouth pulled back in the smallest of imaginable smiles. "You were too busy bickering with the Elric boy to hear, but your Lieutenant thanked me. For stopping you. And so, out of courtesy to her and for the safety of my own people… I am here."

 _He stopped me from acting in anger, and she thanked him,_ Roy mused to himself. _And if we find her first, he'll help stop her from giving in to this thing that's taken her over. And I'll thank him, bowing at his feet if I have to._

The first location they were set to check was a seminary students' residence overlooking a broad courtyard. Roy glanced around at the once-impressive architecture, now fallen into disrepair. Stone benches sat beside shallow depressions that had once been small pools, and the few shade trees that had once been so carefully cultured and tended were now bare, bone-dry, and shrivelled-looking.

He could picture the students walking here, talking over their lives or their studies, studying quietly in the shade or while dabbling bare feet in the pools. This had once been a place of peace, of contemplation and learning. All things that Riza herself valued…. But then she had no way of knowing what this place was, aside from matching the things he thought she would look for in a place to hide.

The double front doors of the seminary were slightly off-kilter, the right one hanging at a slight angle to create a gap. Scar pulled it open slowly, a fraction at a time to prevent any telltale squeaking or grating of hinges. A scattering of dust was spread over the floor, blown through the gap by any wind from the right angle.

Scar opened the door just wide enough to slip his burly frame through; without a word, Roy followed him inside, only to be stopped by the big man's hand bumping gently against his chest.

"Wait here." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You are lighter, but I move more quietly."

He couldn't argue with that, but it didn't stop him from trailing silently along the wall, his eyes travelling up to the vaulted ceiling of the foyer. The architecture was spare, made of the same dun-coloured sandstone with what appeared to be Ishvalan sigils carved around the perimeter at knee height. But where Amestrian design might have placed a glass dome on the roof or tall panes of glass in the building face as windows… there were none.

A wide set of stairs across from the doors spiraled up to a balcony overlooking the entryway, and it was in this direction that Scar headed. He walked stealthily, bent slightly at the waist, his steps rolling from one foot to the other in soundless motion. Keeping his eyes roving over the balcony above, he started up the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Roy tried not to notice that the man's right hand – the destruction hand – was held ready to flex and unleash its power.

But Scar reached the top of the stairs with no incident, and disappeared briefly from view, presumably to check potential hiding spots not visible from the ground floor. Roy held his breath, listening for the sounds of a sudden scuffle or the thud of a heavy male body hitting the floor…. Silence.

Reappearing at the dusty balcony rail, Scar beckoned him wordlessly.

"Searching the dormitories will go more quickly if we split up," he murmured, the low timbre of his voice echoing faintly in the open space. He pointed off down a hallway to Roy's left. "Open every door, look in every room. If you come across one that's locked…."

He glanced pointedly at Roy's hands, his meaning obvious.

Yet Roy hesitated. "I've been trying not to use alchemy since I arrived," he murmured back. "You're sure it won't be some kind of… offense?"

Scar shook his head, already turning toward a second hallway in another direction. "With the rest of my people, yes, but not with me, Colonel. I understand that desperate times call for desperate measures."

And if there were ever desperate times….

Starting off along his allotted hallway, Roy zigzagged slowly left to right, opening first one door, then the next, then the next… The first room was filled with dusty, battered-looking sleeping pallets. When this place was in its heyday, they had likely been very comfortable and well-kept, but the several years of neglect had done their sinister work.

The second room proved to be a bathroom done in clay tile with pewter fixtures. Time and disuse had dulled the metal and discoloured the ceramic sinks, and a pipe leak had caused an anomaly: algae appeared to be growing on the wall under the sink closest to the door. A quick check of the stalls, and then Roy returned to the hallway.

The third door was locked.

Gritting his teeth, Roy took a deep breath. A locked door in an abandoned place like this could mean two things: either something valuable or dangerous… or Riza. Clapping his hands together, careful to do it quietly, he touched gently probing fingers to the doorknob.

The potential pathways for the energy sprang to life in his mind, showing him the shape of the metal and how it could be manipulated. Roy focussed on the locking mechanism. No way to really pick it with alchemy like this; it was too fine-tuned a task. He settled for simply destroying it, leaving the knob to turn freely.

Bracing himself, he swung the door wide, ready to dive out of the way if an attack came toward him… and was surprised to discover a room with four two-person tables, a desk at the far end, and shelves of books lining the walls.

A study hall, he realized with a mild jolt. He should have expected to find a place such as this; it was at least affiliated with a school of some type. Students needed suitable spaces to do their assignments… and this space reminded him of the small personal library where he had spent so much time of his own studies. He was a stranger in a strange place and yet he could still find things to remind him of her.

* * *

DERELICT BUILDING, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1503 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

She was fading in and out of a light doze when she first became aware of the faint voices from outside. Riza's newly over-sensitive ears pricked, her eyes opening to the almost complete blackness of the room as she listened. Weariness tugged at her, not so strongly as if she were in sunlight, but reminding her gently that this was the time for sleep.

When the voices sounded again, slightly louder this time, she pushed aside her fatigue and rose.

The room she had chosen to hide in was on the second floor of a building that had once been some sort of inn. Each room opened on to a walkway, with one walkway wrapping around the outside of the building and another bisecting each floor to lead to the central stairwell. Her windowless room led off this centre hall, where the light of day did not reach so easily. It was nothing more than a linen storage closet, but with one shelf cleared except for a spread-out sheet and a pillow, it was comfortable enough.

The voices were still advancing, but distant enough to suggest that their owners were in the street, not within the building itself. However, sound carried well in these corridors, bouncing from one surface to another, meaning they could be closer than she thought. Her bare feet making no noise on the stone floor, Riza eased toward the door, pressing her ear to the wood.

Two men spoke in Ishvalan, their tones conversational and businesslike by turns. Judging by cadence alone, she suspected them to be warriors, possibly out searching for her. Their likely thought was that a deserted inn would be an incredibly convenient place for a fugitive – four walls and a roof, probably a bed, some kind of plumbing. She could only hope they wouldn't think to check the linen closet.

A part of her knew that she didn't need to kill anyone that happened across her; she had strength now to subdue most attackers instead of ending them outright. But another part – a stronger, much larger part – also knew that anyone who crossed her path was fair game for the hunger coiling in her stomach. If she gave in to that, if she sank her sharpened canine teeth into someone's throat and drank the blood that spilled out… she might not be able to stop herself from taking too much. And if that person happened to be a friend –

The voices were receding in volume, their owners moving away from the building, and Riza turned away from the door. Settling back into the little bunk she had fashioned, she stared up at the underside of the shelf above her and tried to calm her unsteady thoughts. Her mind threw images at her, first of Roy smiling his fond smile at her, and then those dark eyes filling with surprise as she sank her teeth into his neck.

Closing her eyes tightly, she willed the images away… but they came creeping back. Different views of Roy came to her – peacefully asleep in a bed beside her, his naked body over hers, his grin wide at some joke – but always with the same ending. Shock, pain, and betrayal as she gave in to the hunger and bit him.

And Riza knew, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, that would be the fastest way to make him hers.

* * *

MARKETPLACE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1614 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

It was a hot and dusty group that gathered in the deserted marketplace at the end of the search. They trickled in in pairs, gathering around the large well in the centre. Though it was old, it had been dug deep enough that the water remained cold, clear, and fresh. Ramshackle structures that had once been vendors stalls circled outward from this central point, bare and deserted now, but still offering a bit of shade for the weary search party.

Roy sat on the edge of what had once been a table for displaying someone's wares, sweat cooling on his forehead and the back of his neck tingling with the beginnings of a sunburn. Dark eyes watched the rest of the searchers getting drinks from the well's sturdy wooden bucket, speaking quietly with each other, and dispersing to find their own pieces of shade while they waited for further instruction.

"I suppose we'll have to revisit the list of possible places," he said aloud to the man sitting beside him. "We must have narrowed it down too far and missed her."

Scar nodded, his back straight, hands resting in his lap and eyes closed in momentary meditation. "We will wait to hear the others' reports, and then make our decision."

As soon as the last pair of searchers had reached the marketplace and quenched their thirst from the well, Scar rose from his seat and moved into the centre of the group. He raised his voice to be heard, speaking in Ishvalan. Roy shifted, his heart sinking as realized they would be delayed even farther if Scar had to spend time after the briefing filling him in on everything….

"He's thanking everyone for their help in looking for the Lieutenant," a young man said from his left. He had slipped around to Roy's spot, leaving his own partner. "And asking if anyone found anything of interest, whether it relates to her or not."

Partway across the group, a man's hand rose, and after he received a nod of acknowledgement, he began speaking, his hands moving as he spoke.

"He says the came across her footprints at one point," the young man interpreted. "About two hundred metres from the amphitheatre where she was last seen. They know no one has come out this way yet, and certainly not barefoot as she was. They followed them briefly for perhaps five or ten minutes, until they turned down an alley." He frowned. "It was a dead end; a wall reached about ten feet into the air, and her tracks just… disappeared. They entered the alley but did not come back out."

A ten-foot wall and disappearing footprints…. Roy supposed that in this new state of hers, it wouldn't be overly difficult for her to scale such an obstruction. Even before, with her military training and time spent on obstacle courses, it would only have presented a difficult challenge, not an impossibility.

The interpreter was still speaking quietly, his voice overlapping those of Scar and the reporting searcher. "The _banam manav_ asks what sort of buildings the footsteps ended near, so that they might be targeted for searching later…. The searcher says there were some houses, a few shops… and a… do you call it a 'house for bathing?'"

"A bathhouse," Roy supplied, frowning slightly. "What was you called him – the man in the centre?"

The other smiled, sadly. "To you and to others outside our borders, he is known as Scar, yes? For the mark on his face?" Roy nodded. "Names are sacred to the Ishvalan people, Colonel. The man you call Scar cast his name away and so can have no other. Our people call him _banam manav_ – the 'nameless human.'"

Roy raised an eyebrow. "I see. And what's your name?"

Dipping his head in a brief, introductory bow, the man smiled. "I am Wajed, Colonel, and pleased to meet you." He gestured to another man nearby. "But there is more news."

A man had gotten to his feet, crossing toward Scar with something held in his fingers. Scar took it, turning it over and examining it, before holding it up in Roy's direction but speaking to the group at large.

"It is a piece of cloth torn from the Lieutenant's clothes," Wajed translated. "They are confident it is hers because it appears undamaged by exposure. It was found near where the other man found the footprints in the alley, stuck on a nail sticking out of a board beside a storehouse." His eyes lit as Scar asked a question. "Storehouses have no windows, to keep out damaging sunlight, so she may have– oh."

Roy felt his own rising hopes fade as the light disappeared from the young man's eyes. "The storehouse was on their list of places to search, but they did not find her there."

Taking a deep breath, reminding himself not to give up so easily – because Riza certainly wouldn't – Roy sat straight and listened attentively to the reports' translations. There were two more sightings of footprints, each one slightly farther east than the last, but nothing more.

Finally, Scar motioned Roy forward, making one last comment as he did. "He wants you to say a few words," Wajed murmured, before turning and heading back to his search partner. Roy felt his stomach flip in sudden nervousness, but managed to keep it off of his face as he slipped from his seat in the table and emerged into the sunlit open space.

Eighteen solemn faces looked back at him, some with curiosity but others with straight-faced neutrality. A feeling of vague unease settled into the pit of his stomach, but aside from that, he paid it no mind. He drew himself up to his full height, and began.

"First of all, I'm sorry I can't give you my thanks in your own language. You certainly deserve it for all you've done. That being said, it's important to me that you know I'm grateful for your help." Roy kept his smile small – thankful but not an overt showing of emotion. "Myself and my Lieutenant are visitors to your lands, and to have such support in looking for her is comforting. We may not have found her today, but I'm confident that we will tomorrow."

He waited as Scar finished translating for those who could not understand the Amestrian words, his eyes scanning the group. There were a few understanding smiles, but his message seemed to have been received favourably.

An instant later, he was wondering if he had been too quick in that assessment. A prickle began at the back of his neck and he had to consciously keep tension from lifting his shoulders, his gaze turning more alert as it swept over the group once again. This feeling, one he had had several times before, he had always associated with unfriendly eyes upon him. Rival officers, Homonculi… and now perhaps something more sinister.

The sentiment was confirmed as the group of men broke into a smattering of polite applause, every face holding some degree of a smile. The feeling remained; it wasn't from one of them. And as Roy stood, listening to the response to his words, a sinking realization came trickling in.

Forcing steadiness into his movements, he turned to where Scar stood at his left shoulder, keeping his voice somewhere around a murmur. "We were looking for an open space with significance," he said, not quite urgently. "One with tall buildings nearby without too many windows where she could keep watch. This place was searched?"

Scar was almost instantly on the alert, though it showed only in the red eyes and the near-perfect stillness of his body. "Several of the buildings around it were," he answered. He gave Roy a critical look, assessing. "What is it?"

"Just a feeling. A bad one." He glanced back at the group, now beginning to murmur among themselves when it was clear their leaders were in private conference. "Look, we were due to start back toward the settled area soon. We'll go a block or so, and then I'll circle back and see if there was something the searchers missed."

The larger man shook his head. "That's a high risk for potentially very little payoff. And suppose you do find her? What then?" His gaze turned hard. "Colonel, this new personality she's gained has made it very clear how little regard she has for the lives of others. Even yours."

Roy's glare was equally firm. "I never said I was planning to try and speak to her. I just want to know where she is so that we can form a plan to bring her back in."

Scar had seen the lie and Roy knew it, but there was nothing for it now. Red eyes glanced up at the group, then back to him. "Very well. We will beginning leaving… but when you break off to circle back, I will come with you." He took a pair of steps forward, preparing to address the search party, his final words on the subject tossed back over his shoulder. "You need a bodyguard from your bodyguard, Colonel."

* * *

She was growing restless in the dark. Snatches of voices still floated occasionally to her, and each time, they woke her. Finally, Riza slipped from her shelf-bunk and began pacing the small space, trying to work the shivery feeling from her legs. It was a feeling that begged her to let them run, to let them be stretched, to burn off the energy building slowly in her muscles before it drove her crazy.

 _Soon,_ she reminded herself, taking a deep breath _. Soon the sun will be down, soon you can go outside, and soon –_ The hunger shifted in her stomach, reaching achingly up to tighten her throat. – _you can find something to keep from starving to death._

Soon, too, her visitor would arrive in the city. There was still a faint pressure in her mind, so delicate that she had to concentrate to feel it, but it was only the daylight weakening the mystical connection. When it grew stronger again, she would know for certain it was safe to leave her little hideaway.

Looking around at her surroundings, Riza came to the decision that, if there were going to be two of them in proximity, they were going to need something more spacious than a closet. Perhaps that storehouse she had passed up the night before? She had discounted it then because it was so obvious, but this long after the fact, she was relatively sure they would have already searched such a space and others like it. It should be safe enough now.

She had just begun mentally plotting the route back to the storehouse when a new voice spoke up outside. Her head came up, swivelling toward the door, enhanced hearing straining to catch each word and be sure…. Yes. Yes, it was definitely him.

Her smile widened. Of course he had joined the hunt for her himself. Why wouldn't he? If there was one man who knew the mind of Riza Hawkeye, it was him, and he would be only too quick to offer his knowledge of her. Or, well… his intellectual knowledge. The carnal, he would keep to himself.

Still grinning broadly at her own little joke, she moved to the door, reaching for the time-tarnished brass knob… and hesitated. No, there was still sunlight out there. Even in the shade of the hallway, she would be weakened even farther than she already was. Light of any kind on her body would drain her quickly, and her strength might not return until nightfall. If she were spotted and had to run, her chances would not be good.

After only a second more of internal debate, she opened the door wide.

Her breath caught as she stepped into the dim shadows of the hall, feeling fatigue creeping up her arms and threatening to buckle her knees. She forced herself to inhale the warm, still air, forced her feet forward toward the sound of that familiar voice, one hand on the wall to aid her fickle balance. It hadn't been this bad the day before, walking to the amphitheatre for the ill-fated _yantir_ , but then again, the sun had also been on its way down at the time.

She reached the edge of the hall, where it opened onto the mezzanine leading to other rooms and the wide space of the marketplace beyond and below. Leaning against the wall, shading her eyes against the sun's glare, she stood just inside the shade where the hated beams could not reach her.

There was a group of about twenty people in the market below, all men, most wearing the robes and shoulder sash of the priesthood. In the centre, side-on to her as they faced the others, were Scar and Roy, who had, by all appearances, just finished speaking. Scar was translating, the foreign words flowing easily off of his tongue. The group seemed tired after their fruitless search… but not dispirited. Riza pursed her lips in mild annoyance. That was bad news for her; if they felt defeated in their efforts, they were less likely to try again.

She was still watching, her eyes on the back of Roy's head, when she saw him catch on.

Freezing instantly, she watching his head move slowly from one side to the other, scanning the group before turning to speak quietly to Scar. Moving with agonizing slowness, Riza shifted to a crouch, putting the wrought iron of the mezzanine railing between them. It wasn't perfect shelter, but it would at least hopefully confuse the weaker human eyes and prevent detection.

There were a few brief seconds of murmured discussion, and then Scar stepped forward again. One brief comment over his shoulder, and then he was giving orders. Riza dropped flat to her stomach on the dusty floor of the hallway, the familiar prone position of a sniper but minus the weaponry.

With her eyes level with the far edge of the mezzanine, all that was visible of Roy was his head and shoulders. Still watchful, he looked slowly around the entire area, his gaze lighting for a brief moment on the second floor of the inn and the dim inner hallway.

Riza's breath caught for a second time at the sight of those dark eyes. Intelligence, suspicion, and tactical savvy were all there, even at this distance, underlined by the set of his jaw as the stare moved onward, the man himself stepping slowly toward the rest of the search party. Leaving her unseen.

The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips, in time with a sudden urgent clench in the pit of her stomach. She wanted those eyes on her again, wanted her fingers in the messy tousle of dark hair, wanted his lips on hers and everywhere else. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and behind her ears, slithering down the back of her neck to her spine. Forget wanting his eyes, his hair, his lips… she just wanted _him_.

How long had it been now? How long since that last, lascivious tumble in the back of the supply truck? Two days, three… she didn't quite know anymore. Strange how conversion to a new, better form had the effect of messing with a person's internal clock.

Carefully, with patient slowness, she began wriggling backward, deeper into the hallway. The motion stirred the wanting ache in her, making its stoked flame flare a little brighter for a brief moment before she wrestled it back under control. She would return to her hiding place, calm herself, and keep a lookout for anyone else that came searching, whether it was the party below, the stranger still slowly approaching from the north side of the city, or Roy himself.

And if it was Roy…. Well, if he was willing and she played her cards right, there was no real reason why that little wanting ache should have to go unsatisfied.

Even if, in the process, his neck fell victim to her fangs.

* * *

The search party wound through the deserted streets of the disrepaired city in two parallel lines. Roy stayed toward the back, watching Scar at the front of the column for their chance to break away and double back. The prickle on the back of his neck had faded as they left the marketplace, but the sense of unease that accompanied it had settled persistently between his shoulder blades.

In the initial search, there had only been four buildings around the marketplace's perimeter marked as possible, and the men who had swept them hadn't found any sign of Riza. She was good, Roy knew, but even she wasn't flawless at covering her tracks in an unfamiliar environment. There would have been something. Going on his memory alone, there were at least three other buildings of note around the marketplace square… but how many of them would be suitable for a newly turned vampire?

The last thought rocked him mentally for a moment, the word 'vampire' echoing around in his mind. He still had trouble reconciling what was supposed to be a fantasy term, a fictional creature, with the woman he'd known for years. With the woman he loved… even if she wasn't exactly the same woman anymore.

It was comforting — how ever slightly — to know that vampire lore always spoke of ways to reverse the… the curse, he supposed. Granted, several of them involved the suspected vampire already being dead and in a grave, but there was exactly one he knew of that should reverse the effect. If Riza hadn't been dead when she was finally turned, and not enough time had elapsed for her natural life to be over, then —

Motion ahead broke his train of thought; Scar turning to speak to Wajed, who was following just behind him, and then stepping aside to let the column pass. He spoke in Ishvalan to the group, but from the waving gesture he gave, it was clear he was ordering them to follow after the new leader.

Roy stopped where he was, waiting as the larger man made his way back to him, his face serious. "Should we circle around to the other side of the marketplace? Come at it from a different direction?"

Scar glanced skyward, judging the height of the sun. "Sunset will be beginning in an hour and a half," he commented. "We would be losing time that could be spent searching." He started back the way they had come. "We will use the same avenue, but we will be cautious. Stealthy."

They retraced their steps, covering the distance in roughly five minutes and in relative silence but for Scar's murmured directions. Nervousness began to flutter in Roy's stomach, at what they would find or, potentially, the lack thereof. He was willing to admit, if it came down to it, that recent events had him feeling overly suspicious and on edge… but he knew the sensation that had caught his attention in the square. He had spent six months with that feeling, worried that Selim was watching his every move.

The only good thing the Homonculi, Bradley, or their Father had ever given him: a good healthy sense for when he was being watched.

The shadows were stretching long in the sun from the two and three-storey buildings around the edge of the market square, silence laying thick and heavy on the air. Roy suppressed a shudder; total silence in an urban environment was far creepier than he had anticipated it would be.

They slipped into the shadowed overhang of a colonnade to one side of the square, both of them eyeing the buildings. Scar was the first to speak. "Where shall we start?"

Frowning in thought, Roy crouched, the better to see the buildings past the overhang. "I know I said that any building with too many windows should be counted out… but I'm not sure that method will work. I _know_ I felt something when we were here before, but I couldn't tell where she might have been watching from and I didn't see anything."

"Yet you know it was her. Watching." Scar nodded in understanding. "A good instinct. But you did not answer my question."

Standing straight, Roy tilted his head toward the door closest on their right. "We might as well start here and work our way around the square. Sooner or later, if my 'instinct' is right, we'll find something. Either Hawkeye, or some trace of her."

The iconography on the sign over the door identified it as a former bakery. The single plank nailed across the door did not prevent their entry long; the dried, desiccated wood was no match for Scar's right hand.

The interior proved dusty, but otherwise undisturbed. No footprints of recent passage, not even by mice or insects. Chairs were set neatly upside down on tables, the counter tidy and free of any clutter or the smallest of crumbs. A glass-domed cake plate sat empty, harbouring nothing but stale air.

Roy paused in the doorway before entering to search more thoroughly, taking a quick count of the other ground-level doors around the perimeter of the square: twenty-two. Blowing out a breath, he ducked inside the stagnant warmth of the bakery. If they wanted to make any kind of progress before sundown — and its now inherent, potential danger — they would have to work quickly.


	22. Meetings and Greetings

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and for the non-secular among you, Happy Easter! It's been a busy weekend with two family dinners and a whole day of reorganizing the whole apartment and spring cleaning. Understandably, I'm now super tired, so I won't keep you from the chapter any longer. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-two - Meetings and Greetings**

MARKETPLACE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1743 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

They had been re-searching the buildings surrounding the square for only twenty minutes or so before things went straight to Hell.

They had begun with the the bakery, where it was difficult to tell the dust of age from the dust of long-expired flour. It hadn't mattered too much; whatever Riza's new abilities might be, they knew that she was still capable of leaving footprints and the dust — whatever its origin — was undisturbed.

Next had been a handcrafted jewelry shop, polished coloured stones on leather thongs, once-brilliant gemstones, and worked gold alike sitting unmolested within their glass cabinets. Roy had hesitated a moment, his eyes on a pendant necklace upon a gold chain, thinking that if this merchandise could be retrieved and brought to the newer sections of the city, it would help boost the Ishvalan economy…. But he would think about that later.

Two more buildings searched, with equal results: nothing, and more nothing, aside from mouldering furniture, dust, and general abandonment.

Scar led the way down the covered colonnade, watching the shadows that had grown ever longer while they were rummaging about inside. "Not much longer before it's safe for her to come out," he murmured. "We'll have to move —"

"What do you mean 'safe?'"

Both men froze in their tracks in front of a recessed walkway that led through to the outside of the square. Roy's heart began hammering in his chest at the sound of that familiar voice, a sudden cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Beside him, Scar tensed, big hands curling into ready fists.

Halfway down the alley, leaning back with insolent casualness against the stone half-wall to one side of a doorway, was a faintly smirking Riza Hawkeye. Purple eyes gleamed in the shadows as they fixed on Roy, her lips pulling wider into a full grin as she watched his expression change. Roy knew that his dismay at being detected and seeing her in this new state were plain on his face… but there wasn't much he could do about that now.

Clamping down hard on the emotions swirling around in his mind, he resettled his face into its most businesslike look. The one he used for facing down Hakuro or any other senior officer. "I believe what he meant was that it would be easier for you to move around after sunset," he said mildly. "We know you can survive in sunlight, but it's a well-educated guess that it does have an adverse effect on you."

Her smile had lost some of its sinister light when it became apparent that he wasn't going to play whatever little game she had devised. "You always were clever," she said quietly. "And you were clever enough to pick up one of my… limitations. A minor one, but one nonetheless, I grant you." She tilted her head to one side. "But have you managed to figure out exactly what you're dealing with?"

Roy gritted his teeth, hating having to say the word. "'Vampire' has been batted around quite a bit," he said, not quite able to keep the insolence out of his tone.

Riza fairly beamed with dark pride, her pointed canine teeth much in evidence even at the distance separating them. "Oooooh, well done," she purred, sliding a step closer but still not leaving the shadows. "You boys should be proud of yourselves, all working together like this. Pooling your knowledge until you come up with the answer."

She spoke like a kindergarten teacher, praising a particularly precocious five-year-old. Roy could see Scar's jaw beginning to set at the patronization, could feel the red heat of a blush creeping up the back of his own neck. Both of them stayed silent, watching her warily, waiting for her next move.

When she realized that neither of them was going to respond, she dropped her stance into one of exasperation, her eyes rolling in annoyance. "Oh, for pity's sake…. I'm not going to dive at you and rip your throats out, so you might as well relax." She folded her arms, shifting to stand hip-shot. "You're obviously not willing to hurt me either, or else you would have tried, so I can only assume you're here to talk, check on me, or both."

"The first step was finding you," Roy said, daring a step in her direction. Those amethyst eyes flicked to his feet and then back to his face, her relaxed posture taking on the barest hint of tension. Not nervous tension; coiled spring fight-or-flight tension. He stopped. "After that, we thought we might try and convince you to come back with us. So that we can sort this out."

For the first time, her smile didn't reach her eyes. Riza remained motionless, watching him levelly. "You want me to go back to the inhabited areas of the city," she said blandly. "Me. A vampire. Who's sole sustenance is human blood and who has a stunning anger management problem that can lead to a horrifically gruesome death for whomever crosses me." One eyebrow quirked. "You want to put someone like that back in the middle of an unsuspecting population? I think I'd like to take back my comments on your intelligence."

Roy gritted his teeth and tried again. "Forgive me for wanting to have faith in my assistant," he fired back. "Or for hoping that there's enough humanity left in you that you'd be able to control yourself."

"Oh, I have plenty of self-control," the vampire said, her voice a self-assured purr once again. "For instance, I'm enough in control not to bleed you both dry and leave your bodies where they drop." She wagged a cautionary finger. "But if you put me in the middle of what would essentially be an endless buffet of living, breathing bodies…. It would be like putting chocolate in front of a toddler and telling them they can't have it. Hardly sporting at all."

Much as it galled him to admit it, he could see her point. Time for a change in tactics. "Then why not let us set you up someplace away from the rest of the people, somewhere with little daytime light but where we know where to find you so that we can work on getting you back to normal?"

Scorn was the only thing that crossed her face. "Typical man with a god complex," she spat, shifting to lean back against the wall. "Not happy unless you're trying to save someone, even when that person clearly doesn't want or need to be saved." She fixed him with an annoyed glare. "I'll spell it out for you one last time, though if it doesn't get through your thick skull, you're out of luck." She spoke slowly, hammering the point home. "I like myself the way I am. I do not need to be changed back. You are wasting your time, and mine."

Her eyes hardened. "Get. Lost."

Annoyance flared hot and red in Roy's veins, and he opened his mouth to return verbal fire… and stopped as Scar stepped in front of him.

"She is toying with you," he said over his shoulder, still ready to face the creature in the shadows should she come for them. "She is keeping you talking until the sun goes down and keeping you angry so that you don't notice her plan."

Riza huffed a sigh. "You weren't supposed to notice. That's five whole minutes I've wasted, now, trying to play the long game. I should have just lured you into the shadows and taken you out."

"If you were able," Scar answered evenly. Reaching to the pouch around his neck, he did not remove it, but held it toward her and took a pair of steps in her direction.

She frowned. "You're going to try and frighten me with a coinpurse? How do you —" As he drew nearer, her nostrils twitched as she sniffed cautiously… frowned slightly… and then clamped a hand over her mouth as she gagged, bending nearly double. Scar backed off by one step, allowing her to catch her breath.

With the back of her hand held to her nose, her eyes watering from the retch, she glared at him. "What the hell kind of raw sewage is in that thing?" she bit out. "You're either braver or stupider than I thought, to walk around with that hanging around your neck."

"Try 'smarter,'" Roy answered, his tone only a few shades shy of bitter; her remarks from earlier still stung. "We've at least proven they'll keep you at arm's length."

"Ugh. Gladly." Despite the new greenish tinge in her pale face, she shot him a grin. "Though I wouldn't drop it around me, if I were you. It's like gaining entry to a house: all I need is the smallest possible opening."

Standing straight once again, she took several steps backward, fading farther into the deepening shadows. "I can see that our meeting here isn't going to get us very far, and I have another one coming up in a few hours. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

"Wait, hang on a second." Roy made sure she had paused before looking to Scar. "Can you give us a minute? I want to try talking to her one last time… but I need to do it on my own." He saw the doubt in the other man's face, but pressed on. "Two minutes, no longer. And I won't try anything stupid."

Red eyes glanced in Riza's direction, then back to the Colonel… and finally, the larger man nodded agreement. "I'll wait by the street exit. Make it quick, and keep your distance."

"Right." He waited as the warrior moved off, watching Riza slink slowly closer without leaving the haven of the shadowed hallway, her expression full of wary curiosity. Roy put a hand protectively on the repellent charm hanging around his neck, and she stopped.

"You said, before you left the amphitheatre last night, that all the _yantir_ did was 'put the good girl to sleep and bring the bad one out,'" he said, trying for the same level, businesslike tone Riza herself so often employed. "Is that true? Somewhere in you in the real Riza, just… suppressed, somehow?"

She tilted her head first one way, then the other, thinking it over. "You could say that, I suppose. Think of it as… hm, how to describe it so you can understand…. Ah!" She snapped her fingers as an idea struck. "I'll borrow one of her memories for this. You remember how that one Xingese kid, the boy, got turned into a human-based Homonculus? With Greed's personality and his own coexisting within the same body?"

Something cold and sharp sank slowly through Roy's chest. "…Yes."

"It's like that," she answered with an airy shrug. "We're sharing a body, but right now, I'm in the driver's seat. Your little _yantir_ knocked her out of commission for a while. Once she wakes up, she'll be able to try and fight me for control, but even if she wins, I'll be able to fight back soon after." A smile played across her lips. "Two kids, constantly playing King of the Castle. Or maybe, as you've described her, Queen of the Castle."

Taking a steadying breath, he glanced back into the market square. The sky was still darkening slowly, but he wouldn't consider himself in trouble until he saw stars in the sky. "You said that you don't want to go back to the way Riza was before, but if you're sharing that body, shouldn't you ask her opinion? You might not want to change, but maybe she does."

"What's the point?" She slid a few steps closer, but stopped a few metres away, her nose wrinkling as she presumably caught a whiff from the protection charm around his neck. "It's up to whoever is in charge of the body to make the decision. It does whatever its told to, regardless of whoever is doing the driving." She grinned. "I could get this little lady up to a whole lot of trouble if I wanted to, then leave my other half to deal with the fallout."

"Shame that that would involve giving up control," Roy shot back, dread crawling into his stomach. He knew the possibility had been there, but if he could prevent her from taking advantage of it. "And we both know you'd hate to do that."

"Depending what the trouble is, it might be worth it." She eyed him shrewdly, clearly trying to read his expression. "You told Scar you wanted to try talking to me on your own, probably so that you could convince me to work with you rather than me going off and doing my own thing. But you're not, you're just… talking." Her eyes narrowed. "Trying to build rapport, so that I trust you?"

He shook his head. "Trying to figure you out. Trying to figure out this whole situation, and what it is you want."

"Oh, is that all?" Riza's blonde eyebrows lifted. "You could have just asked. As of right now, I have no 'master plan,' and I have no urge to contemplate one. In fact, aside from that meeting I mentioned, I have no concrete plans whatsoever for the immediate future."

Roy felt his spine stiffen, the dread in his stomach swirling sickeningly. "Meeting. You mean the one who started all of this. The killer from Central and East City."

"Mmhmm." Her smile was close-mouthed but no less diabolical. "My… sire, I believe the term in vampire lore is. The one who made me as I am, right under your very nose as it turns out. He'll be here…." She paused, her gaze becoming introspective as she considered it. "Likely in another five hours."

So, the teams back home had been right; the killer was on his way here, now that his… creation had come into her own. Suddenly, Roy needed to be far away from this spot, no matter how much time was left until sunset.

"Don't look so shocked, Colonel," Riza admonished lightly. "You must have known he would follow you here, if for no other reason than to keep toying with you and your Lieutenant. You're his favourite playthings, after all." She beamed at him. "You should stick around. He's going to be awfully hungry after such a long trip…."

Almost automatically, as if in a dream, he reached up to the protection charm and yanked sharply on it. The knot at the back came undone, the little parcel coming away in his hand. Before he could second-guess the action, he lunged forward, tackling the thing in his Lieutenant's body to the ground and pressing the charm directly into the centre of her chest.

The fall knocked part of the wind from her lungs, and when she drew a gasping breath, she immediately gagged at the closeness of the charm. Roy gritted his teeth, keeping it pressed firm to her, all too aware of the closeness of that familiar body as she squirmed and bucked, trying to escape. He kept one hand clenched in the shoulder of her dress, willing the fabric not to tear, desperately hoping that this impromptu plan would have the effect he was gambling on….

When she went limp beneath him, her head lolling to the side, a spike of fear shot through him that it had all gone horribly wrong.

"Riza. Riza, come on…." He let go of her dress, shifting his hand to tap her gently on the cheek, dropping the charm to feel at her neck for a pulse. It was there, rapid and thrumming like a rabbit's after the struggle, her breathing coming and going through her nose in short puffs.

His stomach clenching in worry, Roy took a deep breath and forced his tone into one of command. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye, you're required on duty. Hop to it."

Her eyes flashed open with only the merest flicker of re-closing… and moments later, that warm brown gaze found him.

"…Roy?"

He said nothing, merely pulled her to him as he sat up, holding her close against his chest. After a second of stunned silence, she returned the embrace, although with a hesitancy that belied her confusion. When he could finally force his arms to loosen, he leaned back, studying her face. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." There was a haziness to her eyes that he didn't like, but other than that, she was very much herself. "Whatever you did, it worked, but I doubt it will hold for long." Her lips set into a thin line. "She's not much stronger than I am, but she's determined enough to keep control that it gives her an edge."

"Okay." He touched a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth of life beginning to seep back into her the longer she was in control. "What do you remember? She said you were asleep."

"'Asleep' is more like an analogy," she said, talking quickly in case her alter ego began to assert herself. She looked carefully about as she spoke, taking in her surroundings. "It's more that… I become the subconscious while she has control of the conscious mind. I still hear and see everything happening, but I have no say in what happens, what's said, where I go…."

Roy frowned. "So then, if —"

Riza shuddered, shook her head roughly as though to clear it, and then looked him firmly in the eyes. "Roy, don't talk, just listen. She's already trying to take over again." Her hand grasped his upper arm, imparting seriousness. "The killer is coming here, which means the entire populated part of the city is a target. They're the only food supply for miles." She shuddered again, her breath hitching. "They all need some kind of protection, either that pouch thing you just used, some kind of religious icon, or staying in a hol —"

Her entire body twitched violently to the left, knocking her free from his arms. She recovered, but slid away another foot or so. "- A holy place like the temple." Her mouth tugged in a faint smile. "I'm sorry to give you orders, sir, I know it's not exactly appropriate."

His return grin was as weak as hers. "We'll discuss your punishment for insubordination later." Ignoring the risk from the returning vampire persona, he leaned forward and pressed a warm, deep kiss to rapidly cooling lips. There was a soft sound from the back of her throat that might have been the start of a moan, but she held it back. "Hope to see you soon, Whiskygirl," he murmured, easing back to a safer distance and trying not to let the ache in his chest colour his words. "Stay strong."

Another strong twitch rocked her, but there was one last smile that was pure, unadulterated Riza Hawkeye. "Even into Hell," she murmured knowingly. Her eyes closed, and she sank back to lie prone on the sand-swept street.

Silence followed, except for a soft shuffling as Roy eased backward another few feet. Blindly, his hand groped for and found the charm pouch, his eyes watching the slow — too slow — rise and fall of Riza's chest. Finally, she gave a soft sigh.

"Would you look at that," she said, matter-of-factly. "I think the sun's just about down."

His head snapped back, eyes widening at the sight of the purpling sky overhead. Already, two bright points of light winked in the lowering twilight; night fell faster in the desert than he realized.

When he looked back to her, she was raised on her elbows, watching him with a mischievous smile dancing in those amethyst eyes. She lay perfectly still, watching him without fear or fondness. Her lips parting, the tip of her tongue running across the edges and points of her teeth in a surprisingly good approximation of a wolf eyeing prey.

"Better start running, fire boy," she advised, her voice low with a casual kind of menace. "You don't want to be caught all alone out here. Don't you know monsters come out at night?"

Roy was no coward, but he knew when he was up against something terrifying that he had no hope of beating on his own. Rising smoothly to his feet, he slipped cautiously away from the entrance to the hallway, not turning his back to her. To turn away was to invite attack.

When he was out of her line of sight, he bolted for the side street where Scar waited. The other man saw him coming, perking to an alert posture when he saw the speed Roy was moving at… and asked no questions. No sooner had Roy drawn level with him than Scar was running too, both of them pelting back down the street toward the distant, relative safety of the inhabited areas of the city.

* * *

Riza waited until she heard the pair of rapid footfalls echoing off the buildings receding into the distance before she got to her feet. Somewhere in her mind, in the aftermath of the brief switch, she could feel something that felt like an impossibly tiny person pounding on the walls of an equally tiny cell, demanding release… but she ignored it. There were other, more pressing matters to attend to.

First on her list, she wanted out of this dress. The Ishvalan people mind be more comfortable showing as little skin as possible by covering it with the blandest colour in the world — honestly, whoever came up with 'biege' ought to have been shot on principle of fashion — but it was not for her. She craved colour, style, and something softer on the skin than homespun cotton.

She padded barefoot down the side street that the Colonel and that hulking Ishvalan had taken, the dust from their passage still settling around her. She was in no hurry, not yet; there was still time before her sire reached the northern city limits, and then she would meet him somewhere closer to the centre.

She breathed deeply, with her slow rate, of the cooling night air. Warmth lingered in the sand and stones, warming her toes as she passed, but her body did not hold to it. Her lowered respiration and pulse saw to it that her skin stayed cool to the touch, her extremities especially. Riza smiled, tilting her face to the darkening sky and letting the breeze play across her features; the night was falling all around her, bringing a peace to her after the hated brightness of the day.

Her path took her long the same street as Roy and Scar, and the rest of the search party before them. It was perhaps a forty-minute easy stroll back to the occupied section of the city, but she did not intend to follow them so far. With ten minutes to go until civilization, she turned down an alleyway and vanished into the shadows.

Taking to the rooftops was a simple matter for her, an easy climb with her increased strength and senses. She emerged into starlight with all the coiling strength and grace of a lioness on familiar turf.

The quieter residential streets lay on the outermost edges of the inhabited section, and these she passed through silently and unnoticed, until she reached a wider boulevard alive with the sounds, sights, and smells of humans.

Light and sound poured out from the streets ahead, lanterns lining the sidewalks and people talking and laughing as they went about their lives. Late-night vendors called to passersby, offering goods and food for trade or barter. Those were really the only two commerce systems in use at the moment; cash was hard to come by in a people just beginning to recover after nearly a decade of oppression.

Such trusting fools, she thought, dropping low to the rooftops as she approached the edge of the lighted area. _Several prominent members of their leadership know there is danger in the darkness, and yet there's no rooftop sentries, no one on patrol on the perimeter…. Careless, naïve fools…._

Riza belly-crawled to the edge of the first rooftop, only her eyes peeping over at the array of shops below. Delicious smells of cooking meat and baking bread wafted on the air, along with the smoke from cookfires and hearths. The rhythmic _ting! ting! ting!_ of metal being worked sounded from farther along the avenue, laughter from a newly opened alehouse rising into the air from open windows.

She followed the sounds of bartering cries from her right, keeping close to the edge, but only peering over at odd intervals, looking for the distinct signs of what she sought… there. Working her way to the roof of her desired shop, she crept to the back and dropped into the shadowed, deserted alleyway behind.

There was no lock on the door she was faced with, making slipping inside the candlelit interior an easy task. Swaths of fabric draped every whichway so as to be visible to passersby hid her from the shopkeeper as well as any customers as she entered the tiny space. It was more akin to a stall than a true shop, but it held what she was looking for.

Bolts of cloth lines the walls in a riot of colour, different textures and patterns colliding over every surface. Men's, women's, and children's clothing hung on tall stands or from horizontally braced poles across the width of the interior. The voice of an older woman came from the front, speaking rapidly in Ishvalan to one customer or another, no doubt extolling the virtues of her product.

Riza didn't waste time, simply locating the style she wanted in a colour she liked before stealthily slipping the item from its hanger and disappearing through the back door once again. The garment, she draped around her neck like an athlete's towel for the time being, needing her hands free and her progress unencumbered.

She gained the rooftops once again, dodging from one to the next and onward, back to where the city lay dark and silent in its abandonment. All the while, her teeth glinted in the starlight in a prideful grin at her accomplishment.

* * *

ABANDONED SECTION, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

0142 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

She was waiting on the inn's rooftop terrace when her visitor finally arrived.

He skulked into the market square, his dark suit blending at times with the shadows while at other times, his pale skin was indistinguishable from the light-coloured stone walls. Riza made no move to call to him or otherwise make herself known… but he paused near the well and lifted his head. At this distance, she could not make out his features, but she knew his eyes were on her, perched as she was on the half-wall at the terrace's edge.

Silently, he started for the inn's ground floor, and Riza felt a peculiar sensation near her solar plexus. Nervousness, she determined, watching as he began to scale the building. This man had attacked her before, had pursued her from one city to the next, had made her the way she was… and she still knew next to nothing about him.

And when he finally climbed gracefully onto the roof, his face clear to her for the first time, she wished she had remained oblivious.

Reaching up, briefly lifting the fedora hat that looked so ridiculous in this desert environment, former Major Solf J. Kimblee favoured her with a smile. "Lovely to see you again, Lieutenant."

She was on him in another instant, tackling him to the cracked paving stones of the terrace floor, the two of them somersaulting over and over in the dust until she finally pinned him. Purple eyes were alight with fury, her hand clamped tightly around his throat as she sat astride his chest, her legs pinning his arms to his sides. "You have some nerve," she spat, pointed teeth evident as she glared at this old, hated enemy. "I don't know how you survived the Promised Day, but I have half a mind to finish what Pride obviously failed to."

In contrast, he was completely calm, lying relaxed beneath her with no evident intention to fight back. "Well, when one loses the ability to have a mortal human life, nerve is about all one has left." He smiled indulgently, the words beginning to rasp as her fingers tightened slightly. "And giving you answers is one of my primary reasons for coming, so if you would be so kind as to—"

"'Kind?'" she echoed, not quite derisively. "As though you were ever kind to anyone a day in your life."

His form shivered and then stretched into a long string, snaking away from her and out of her reach, depositing her in a kneeling position on the flagstones. Kimblee reassembled himself partway across the terrace, dusting himself off fastidiously as his body finished coalescing. "Really, Lieutenant, flying off the handle that way is only going to slow our progress this evening. Try to control yourself."

She got to her feet, eyes wary on him and stance ready to dodge at a second's notice. "You mentioned answers," she said flatly.

"Indeed, I did." He glanced her way, his eyes straying over the dress she had stolen to replace the plainer everyday Ishvalan garment. "…Did you dress yourself up for me? Perhaps you're more welcoming of me than you care to admit."

If anger had not already left her cheeks tinged with red, the blush would have been much more noticeable. Suddenly, the snowy white _abaya_ was much less of a good idea. Riza folded her arms over the soft linen, feeling the tiny bumps and ridges of the intricate emerald-green beadwork through the fabric. It was belted at her waist with a matching green sash, covered her arms and fell to her ankles, and yet with his eyes on her, she felt strangely exposed.

"Answers," she reminded him firmly.

"Very well," he said, almost resignedly. Walking to the edge, he leaned back against the half-wall, his arms folded. "I can see we're not going to get anywhere until your curiosity is sated. I trust you've figured out what you are? What I've made you?" Her only answer was a curt nod. "Good.

"You were apparently told — likely by that chimera traitor, Heinkel — what happened to me on the Promised Day. First, my former employee mauled me until near-death, and then Pride had the unmitigated gall to eat me." He smiled faintly. "I certainly taught the brat a lesson, though. I managed to retain my own personal soul using him as a vessel, until Edward Elric stripped away all that was 'Pride,' and left only 'Selim.'"

Riza moved no closer, but she did relax her tense posture when it was apparent by his own that he would not be attacking anytime soon. "Yes, I've been told before of a human-based Homonculus retaining their original soul while their body plays host. I didn't realize it could work in reverse." She eyed him coolly. "Though I would have thought that, when Pride's power was taken from him, you would have been destroyed along with it, having no body left."

Kimblee shrugged modestly, the faint smile still tugging at his lips. "When the Elric boy invaded Pride's soul, I thought the same thing. I was ready to disappear into the void; being part of a body as nothing but an unattached and unassimilated soul was growing boring…. So imagine my surprise when, in the late evening of the Promised Day, I find myself regaining consciousness, stark naked in the underground lair Father had built for himself."

Her eyes narrowed. "How?"

Spreading his hands theatrically, he grinned. "Magic, my dear." He waited, but silence and her stony gaze were the only things that greeted this pronouncement. He let his hands drop back into his lap. "You have no sense of humour. In reality, Homonculi are rather resilient beings, especially that Gluttony one. I'm sure you know that personally.

"When Gluttony was eaten by Pride, his soul molded mostly into that of Pride… but by the time Pride was destroyed, he still wasn't fully amalgamated. His Philosopher's Stone was not entirely amalgamated or used up either." His smile grew to a proud one. "When I realized what Edward Elric meant to do, as I said, I was ready to disappear into the void… if what I attempted failed. I took Gluttony's soul, what remained of his Stone, and what remained of myself… and I molded them together. Gluttony's Stone served to manifest a new body; it remembered how, having only been grown from Father shortly before. My soul inhabits it, although the side effects have been… noticeable."

Realization was beginning to dawn on her, things clicking into place. "The hunger," she said. "That's where it comes from. It comes from Gluttony's influence."

Kimblee nodded. "Along with other… appetites I know you've noticed." He did not acknowledge the hot points of red that bloomed in her cheeks at the comment. "There must have also been some last vestiges of Pride's soul trailing me when I reformed myself, hence the ability to elongate and reform at will. And the arrogance, of course, though I consider that particular side effect to be mild.

"Any other little quirks can, I'm sure, be chalked up to the vagaries of alchemy that still aren't perfectly understood." He got to his feet, bringing her abruptly back onto the alert. Drawing closer, his own pointed teeth showing in a leering smile. "Of course, now the main question is… can two old soldiers who never really got along learn to live with each other in the face of a new, unprecedented occurrence?"

She glared daggers, even though she knew he would be unaffected by such a look. "Give me one good reason why I should have to work with you."

"It's very simple." Quick as she was, she did not react soon enough to dodge the hand that grasped her chin, forcing her to keep eye contact with him. He drew close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her nose and lips, his eyes steady on hers in a way that signalled power and mastery.

"I did you the honour of making you into what you are. You _owe_ me."


	23. Just a Name on a List

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed last week's big reveal. A big shoutout to reader fallenangel7583, who was posting her theories in the reviews, and managed to figure it out a few months ago! Congratulations, honey, I'm super proud of you! Clearly I need to make things more difficult ;) Enjoy this week's chapter, folks!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-three - Just a Name on the List**

UNINHABITED ZONE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

0322 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

She moved carefully in the deepest of the shadows, approaching the inhabited areas of the city for the second time that night. Kimblee was some four hundred metres away to her right, on his own hunt, and she would rather he not know she had followed him. He had wanted to hunt, and while Riza did not particularly care if he did or did not feed on the unsuspecting population… she also knew that his usual method of attack mean the prey never got back up again.

And if similar murders to those in Central and East City happened here, the military was bound to get themselves involved. More people watching, more people combing the city for her and Kimblee… more chances of being caught.

So she trailed him from a great enough distance, keeping a tight leash on her thoughts so that he wouldn't clue in to the fact she had not, in fact, stayed at the inn hideaway. She would know from the uptick in his own openly broadcasted thoughts when or if he found prey, and would hurry to stop him from killing outright, if she could. It was all about sustainability: sustainable food sourcing and sustainable secrecy.

Coming to the edge of the inhabited area, she took to the roofs once again, traversing them with the same light, carefree footing as a cat. The augmented strength in her legs allowed her to jump from one to the next in leaps that thrilled her heart, her brain growing giddy on the adrenaline —

 _No. Focus._ She checked Kimblee's mental state, found him already in the quiet, anticipatory mental space that signalled he was stalking prey. Gritting her teeth, Riza turned her steps in that direction, weaving between stone chimneys and traversing the traditionally flat-topped roofs with quickening speed. She clamped down harder on her own mental broadcasting, imagining her thoughts kept hidden under a camouflaged dome as she picked up her pace ever farther.

The stucco, brick, and stone under her bare feet held no vestiges of warmth from the day's sun, though she barely felt the nighttime chill as she ran. Sand and grit whirled in her wake, kicked up by her passage.

She came upon him in an alley so dark that it was nearly pitch-black, just as he was dragging the stunned body of a young woman from the revealing torchlight in the street. She struggled feebly, small distressed noises issuing from her throat despite the hand clamped across her mouth.

Riza let her mental walls drop, evidencing her anger and distaste for what Kimblee was up to. He froze instantly, his head jerking up, but it was too late. Her feet hit the ground in front of the would-be victim, the two of them glaring at each other over the prostrate body between them.

"Lieutenant, do you mind?" he asked in vague annoyance. "I'm in the middle of dinner, and it's rather rude to interrupt someone at mealtime."

"I'm not stopping you," she pointed out, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'm supervising. I'd like to make sure she goes home when you're done, instead of adding another murder charge to the ones you've accumulated already."

His teeth glittered against the dark backdrop behind him as he grinned. "Is that all? You wouldn't perhaps like to… share? One drink, two straws, so to speak?"

The look she gave him was pure disdain. "I'm perfectly capable of hunting for myself, thank you. Without creating more competition or leaving bodies lying around afterward."

Kimblee scowled. "Competition? What are you talking about?"

Riza's smile was practically acidic. No teeth showed, but her eyes glared daggers as she spoke. "The bite of a vampire is what starts the transformation, although it's very slow. The morning after you bit me for the first time, I began noticing changes, although I passed it off as still recovering from my wounds on the Promised Day."

She slid forward a few steps, standing over the girl on the ground. Her eyes were open, still slightly glassy-looking — no doubt from Kimblee's mental influence — but more coherent than they had been a moment ago. Riza spared her one glance, but no more. "Every other person you've hunted, you've killed when you fed on them. That's lucky, since if you had just bit and sucked the blood, leaving them alive, they would have slowly been turned until they were — after several weeks, I'm guessing — a fully-fledged vampire. Or as close as you can get without drinking your blood in return."

"Creating competition," he said slowly, her point dawning on him. "For food sources, for territory…." His eyes quickly traced her form, but not quickly enough to escape her notice. "For mates…. And how do you suggest we prevent this then? How do we feed without biting?" His quick smile returned, his eyes flicking slyly to the woman at their feet. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a new sister?"

"Very sure," she shot back, crouching low over the woman's hips. "As for not biting… I can show you."

The woman began to struggle again as Riza's hand fisted in the front of her dress, pulling her partially into a sitting position. Riza smiled sweetly, her free hand gently stroking the other's cheek as she sent forward soothing thoughts, willing the fear away. She exuded reassurance, like a parent calming a child after a nightmare… and watched as the terror leached out of the woman's eyes, her tense muscles relaxing.

The soft strokes moved from her cheek to trail down her neck… and when the woman didn't react, Riza pressed her thumbnail into the skin, drawing down to open a cut. The only reaction was a soft gasp that quickly subsided until Riza's mental touch, and blood pooled quickly on the skin.

She looked up. "And there you have it. With our strength, puncturing the skin with just a fingernail is no great feat, and as long as you don't start licking like a dog, she'll remain fully human. Perhaps it's not quite as dramatic as what you were intending, but it's better than creating a whole passel of other vampires to contend with."

Settled cross-legged on the ground, Kimblee pulled the body of the bleeding woman toward him. "Very innovative. And how many have you hunted this way?"

The hunger twisted in her stomach at the sight and smell of the blood, and she averted her eyes in the pretense of looking out for witnesses. "None. I've been a little busy since I turned fully, and haven't exactly had time to hunt."

He tsked, lifting his mouth from the still-oozing cut. "That's not healthy, my dear, you need to keep up your strength. Skipping meals is never a good idea, whether human or vampire." He shook his head in reproach. "Honestly, you'll make yourself ill if you don't eat properly."

Annoyed, she pushed to her feet, turning toward the alley exit. "I make myself ill just being around you," she fired back. "Make sure you don't kill her; we'd have the population down on our heads faster than we could blink, and even we can't fight back if the numbers are overwhelming."

She didn't hear his response as she turned the corner onto the deserted street and bolted off into the night. Her teeth gritted. _Of all the men to be turned into a vampire and fixate on me… it had to be_ him. She had never liked Kimblee even before it was made abundantly obvious that he was mentally unstable. He was arrogant, he was rude, he was utterly deaf to the feelings of those around him—

Her stomach twisted again, hurting a little this time with hunger pangs, and Riza grimaced. Unfortunately for her, this time, he was also right. She needed to find some form of sustenance.

What little information Scar and Miles had managed to impart to them on the day's travel between the welcoming party's interception and arriving in Jadad had said that the inhabited parts of the city were divided according to family demographic. Families in one area, single women in another, single men in yet another…. Now if she could simply remember where each section was….

The market where she had stolen her _abaya_ was more or less in the centre of the three housing districts, and she would have passed over the family dwellings to get to it. From there… if she remembered correctly, the single women were placed in homes to the north, and single men were placed to the south. Travelling west as she was, she turned to her left, angling off through the streets and allowing the shadows to swallow her.

* * *

INHABITED ZONE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

0413 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

He was mildly surprised that he had managed to any sleep at all, and that the five hours he had gotten hadn't been fitful or interrupted by dreams. Roy supposed he ought to feel grateful for that much… but right now, he couldn't bring himself to feel much more than just _tired_.

The small single-family house he had been directed to for the duration of the trip was dark and quiet as he moved from his bedroom to the small bathroom. It was quiet outside as well; it was even too early for the city's merchants, bakers, and craftspeople to be up and preparing for their day.

Two minutes later, standing at the sink, Roy watched the water flow over his hands and debated the usefulness of trying to go back to bed. He doubted he would sleep more; his mind was already too hard at work. And if he wouldn't sleep, he was liable just to lie there and worry about Riza.

He dried his hands, and returned to the bedroom, but it was to turn on the light and reach for his clothes. If he were awake anyway, he might as well do something useful and try to get some work done. There wasn't much else he _could_ do, he reasoned, pulling the tunic over his head and belting it at the waist with the traditional Ishvalan sash.

Riza was out of his reach, at least for now. Miles and Scar wouldn't be up and about for a couple of hours yet, along with the rest of the city. He was on his own for the time being, but that didn't mean he had to be idle.

The sound of the kettle beginning to boil in the kitchen as he leaned against the counter next to a waiting mug was welcome and familiar. Something that hearkened to early mornings on better days. He smiled, picturing Riza leafing briefly through the East City Times as she waited for the water to heat for her morning tea. Her hair falling around her face in a sleek blonde curtain, his shirt covering her to her hips, her bare feet padding across the floorboards to the stove….

He shook his head to clear the images, dragging himself back to the present to the strident whistle of the kettle. He lifted it from the burner and switched it off, before pouring the hot liquid into the mug, watching the teabag bob to the surface.

He had never been much for tea before Riza started as his assistant. After that, he had seen her drink a cup of the stuff every morning until he had finally been curious enough to explore the drink himself. She had taught him to like it, and in the six-month separation before the Promised Day, he had almost given up coffee in favour of it, to feel even slightly closer to her.

Now, she was gone again and he was here, drinking tea without her.

He opened the front door of the little house into the cool, predawn darkness, thinking that it might be relaxing just to sit outside and watched city wake up. Before he was two steps out, however, his stomach gurgled insistently. Apparently, breakfast was on the agenda as well.

Setting the mug of tea on a small bench to one side of the door, Roy returned inside. He retrieved a pair of flat, rectangular biscuits from a box Miles had pointed out to him on the counter. The Ishvalan label was indecipherable to him, but the Major had said they were some kind of breakfast treat – mildly sweet, some kind of oat, dried fruit, and honey mixture that most Ishvalans went crazy for. Either way, it was likely they went well with tea.

When he returned outside, however, the mug of tea was gone.

Roy stood very still, staring at the spot where he was positive he had left the cup. It wasn't on the ground, he hadn't taken it with him back inside, so where….

"Oh dammit, it's you."

His head snapped back as he looked to the roof, eyes widening. Sitting perched on the edge, the mug of tea cradled in both hands, was Riza. Her face was set in a mixture of mild surprise and strong annoyance, glaring at him over the rim of the cup. "I thought," she said frostily, "that you were some early-rising dad coming outside to avoid waking the kiddos and your wife…. Easy prey, and not very common at this hour. But I suppose I was wrong."

 _It's all right; she can't attack you as long as you have —_ A cold chill gripped his spine as he realized that he had left the protective charm pouch in his bedroom. Unused to wearing it, he had forgotten about it completely… and was now wide open. Forcing himself to keep his cool, he broke a piece from one biscuit and bit into it. "Sorry to disappoint you. Out for breakfast, are you?"

"More like dinnertime for me," she corrected, almost languidly. "And no…If I were hunting now, it would qualify more like dessert. I've already had my main course, so to speak."

Roy felt the colour drain out of his face. "I see. Would you mind telling me where, so that some innocent civilian doesn't stumble across the crime scene and scare themselves half to death?"

She laughed, a genuinely merry sound that still managed to raise hairs on the back of his neck. "You're thinking of K —" She seemed to stop herself, losing her humour almost instantly. "…of my sire's method of hunting," she continued after a brief hesitation. "Personally, I try _not_ to kill my victims, or to spread vampirism around by biting indiscriminately. And I've made sure that he is willing to do the same."

"That's a bit like closing the barn door once the horse escapes, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it benefits us as well as you." She took an appreciative sip from the mug. "Mmm. Very nice. Really cleanses the palate. Anyway, as long as we don't create new vampires and don't go about murdering people for their blood, I really think we can learn to coexist. Maybe a couple people get snacked on each night, but I would think most people would rather that than an all-out murder spree, don't you?"

He gritted his teeth at the insolence in her tone. "Somehow, I don't think everyone will be dancing in the streets at that proposition."

"Well, no, of course not. But it's got to be better than the alternative. That's my whole point."

They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the lack of city sound all around them, before Roy swallowed his latest bite of breakfast biscuit. "Sounded like you almost gave a name to your… your 'sire,' you said? Why the anonymity?"

She looked down at him from her perch for a moment before taking a nonchalant last sip from the cup. "Because I figure that if he wants you to know who he is, he'll reveal himself to you in time. It's not really my place to do so." She tossed her hair back over one shoulder. "Suffice it to say that he's no friend of yours: never has been, probably never will. And maybe that's for the best."

She dropped to the ground, setting the empty cup on the bench. "Thanks for the drink. See you around, fire boy."

"Hold on a second." Just as passed him, Roy reached out and caught her by the arm. The fabric of the sleeve was cool under his palm, her muscles shifting minutely as she tensed and turned to glare at him. "What really brought you here? Were you looking for me specifically?"

The glare softened somewhat, though she threw a distrustful glance at his hand on her arm. "No, what I told you was true. I was on my way back to my little hideaway, saw a lone man out by himself and thought he might be easy prey for a light snack. You're just lucky enough it was you." She tugged gently. "You can let go of me now."

"…I see." His eyes went to the white linen as he let go and she took a step back. "Nice dress."

Riza beamed, purple eyes smiling up at him from under blonde lashes. "You think so? I needed something a little more _me_ than that plain brown thing, so I thought I'd treat myself. Not a bad choice, as it turns out." Her smile turned sly, showing teeth. "But I bet you'd still like what's under it even more."

Not much made Roy Mustang blush, but the look of pure lasciviousness in those strange purple eyes certainly did. He took a step back, distancing himself, careful to keep his tone cool and unaffected. "The face is right, but the mind isn't," he shot back. "Call me when it's the real Riza at the reins, not you."

She stood hipshot, her arms folded as she watched him with an amused expression. "Oh, come on. You're really that much of a purist that you can't even allow yourself one little indulgence? Do you think it'd be cheating, somehow?" Her grin broadened. "Same body, same hair, same lips, same… everything. Well, maybe except the eyes, but that's straying toward semantics." She shrugged, trailing a step toward him. "But other than that, aside from acting a little differently… can't you just accept that this is still essentially the pretty little lady that gets you all hot and bothered?"

"The body is only part of it," he answered, trying to ignore the heat gathering on the back of his neck at the sound of her voice, the lithe movements, the teasing lift of those familiar lips…. "The rest is a person's soul and spirit, and yours isn't Riza. You told me yourself that you're suppressing hers."

The strange creature with Riza's face drew another step closer, and when he went to retreat, he found himself literally backed against the wall of the house. Long, cool fingers stroked his cheek, her index coming to rest on his lips. "Don't be silly," she chided gently, drawing close to press lightly against him. "You're putting far too much thought into this. It's just sex, fire boy, nothing terribly new to you." Her free hand trailed low, over the front of the loose desert pants; her teeth showed at what she found there. "You can't tell me you're not at least a _little_ bit interested."

If blushing was rare, physical violence toward a woman was unheard of… yet it didn't stop him from planting a hand on either of her shoulders and shoving hard. The vampiress, caught off-guard, staggered backward several steps and was lucky enough not to trip on the robe of her white dress.

"Seems to me that there's one of your own kind you could get that kind of attention from," he pointed out, though he hated the words the moment he said them. He _knew_ it wasn't Riza, but to encourage the thing in her body to go after another man… well, not a man exactly, but another male….

"He and I don't exactly see eye to eye," she scoffed. "Riza never liked him, and strong dislike like that tends to bleed through the barrier between personalities… and the only reason he wants her is to hurt you." She paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Although… perhaps it _would_ be a fitting punishment for turning me down. Maybe I _will_ let him have a little fun."

That same cold chill returned, this time grasping his stomach in icy fingers. What had he just _done_. "Wait a minute… you said that this guy… none of us ever liked each other, and yet he's using her to hurt me." Those amethyst eyes turned unreadable, and he had the sense she felt she had given too much away. "You almost said his name before, but cut yourself off after one letter. You won't tell me, but what if I guess?"

She shrugged, the motion too nonchalant to be genuine uncaring. "So what if you do?"

Roy gritted his teeth. "King Bradley?"

For a long moment, she was very still, still watching him closely. "That's a nice little bit of deduction," she commented at last.

"Only if I'm right. Am I?"

Another shrug. "Maybe you are and maybe you aren't," she answered cryptically. Glancing skyward, she turned to head north along the deserted street. "We may have to continue this another time. The sun will be coming up before long, and I'd like to be safely indoors by then." She tossed a finger-wave over her shoulder. "Have a nice day, Colonel."

"Hey, hang on a —"

But the words were left echoing around the street as she bolted at terrific speed off into the shadows, veering sharply down a sidestreet and out of sight. Roy sank to a seat on the little bench against the wall, dropping his head into one hand as belated nervous shivers ran the length of his spine and back again.

She wasn't alone anymore. And her new partner in crime — whether it was Bradley or not — was every bit as deadly as she was.

* * *

RECONSTRUCTION OUTPOST OFFICE

0523 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

Roy had to pound on the locked door of the outpost office for nearly three minutes before Miles finally opened. The usually put-together Major was, for once, disheveled by sleep and still blinking the last vestiges of it from his eyes. Belting a robe around his waist and shaking his long, loose white hair back behind his shoulders, he frowned at the tense man on the doorstep.

"Colonel? What —"

"Don't ask questions, just let me in." The tone of his voice left no room for argument. Miles stepped back immediately, his soldier's training temporarily overriding his fatigue. Once through the door, Roy nudged him aside, turning to firmly shut and re-bolt it.

Any trace of tiredness was rapidly vanishing. "Sir, I know you said no questions, but what the he** is going on?"

"I had a visit from our mutual friend. Less than an hour ago." He turned, running a hand back through his hair in agitation. "It might be a bit early, but have you got any of that liquor from the other night?" His grin was lopsided but strengthless. "I need something to take the shake out of my legs."

"Sure." Starting for the stairs, Miles pointed to the paper-littered desk. "The bottle is in there. I'm going to grab some clothes, and send someone to get Scar. He'll want to hear about this as well."

Roy had the desk drawer open by the time Miles' footsteps reach the second floor. The bottle was just over halfway full, the clear liquid sloshing up the sides and making a tinkling sound where it hit the cap. Roy settled his fingers on it to open it… and froze. He could hear Riza's voice — her actual voice, not the sultry, dangerous tones of the thing in her body — admonishing him.

 _Really, sir? Don't you think that an alcohol chaser for breakfast sends the wrong message?_ His conscience yet again, in reality, not just as her own joke.

He lowered the bottle, watching the room's dim lighting reflecting off the shifting liquor. He had thought that he had left this particular urge behind during the long lead-up to the Promised Day: the urge to try and quite literally drown his sorrows. Oddly enough, it had been his own mother, his regular supplier of professionally served alcohol, that had pointed out the flaw in that logic.

 _Alcohol kills your brain cells, boy. And if you're going to figure your way out of this situation, you haven't got many you can lose._ That grim stare and red-painted lips hovered in his memory, along with the wagging finger of reproach.

"If there's a drink in your glass, you'd better pray it's water," he muttered to himself as footsteps sounded again from the stairs. A young warrior priest — one of the guards from the _yantir_ , Roy recognized — bolted down two steps at a time and out the front door in seconds, Miles returning only a moment later, still tying the sash of his tunic. Red eyes glanced at the bottle still in Roy's hand.

"Feeling better, sir?"

"Actually, I think I'll take a raincheck on that drink. Save it for celebration when we get the upper hand in this whole mess." He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and shut it firmly. "That was your messenger?"

Miles nodded. "The two of us — you and I — have each been assigned a guard until we sort this all out. Yours was told to remain as unobtrusive as possible, so he was staying in the vacant house behind yours." He frowned. "Though I wonder how it was that he missed the Lieutenant's so-called visit."

"We would have been on the opposite side of the house, and probably out of his view," Roy answered. "How long until Scar gets here, do you think?"

"It shouldn't be long. Ten minutes, maybe."

True to his word, when the door opened ten minutes later, it was Scar who entered followed by the guard-messenger. He dismissed the younger man with a nod, moving to the small dining area where Roy and Miles waited at the typically low Ishvalan-style table. Each held a fresh cup of tea, with a third waiting for the large man.

"I was of the opinion that most Amestrians, even soldiers, don't generally start the day until at least six," he commented dryly, setting himself at his place.

"Personally, it's usually five or five-thirty for me, though there's not a lot I wouldn't give for six." The wry humour helped to ease Roy's tension somewhat, but a good percentage of it still remained, nestled in a knot between his shoulder blades. "I appreciate you coming so quickly."

"There was very good reason." Lifting his cup, Scar watched him over the rim. "What happened?"

Taking a deep breath, Roy wrapped both hands around his own cup, welcoming the warmth. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up, thinking I would take my breakfast outside, in the fresh air, where I could try to relax and think about the kind of work that has to be done here. Both with the Hawkeye situation and the reconstruction. I went back inside for something and when I came back out, she was waiting for me."

Miles frowned. "Was she… well, did she try to…." Clearly not sure what words to use, he simply pointed to his neck.

"No… though she mentioned she had already been out… the term she used was hunting. From the sounds of it, she'd… fed."

Scar lowered his cup, outwardly calm but the instant alertness showing in his eyes. "Meaning that somewhere out there is another victim. Like the others in Central and East City?"

Roy shook his head quickly. "No, no, I had the same thought, believe me. She assured me that she has no interest in hunting the way the killer does, that she had found a way to… to make it less destructive for the victim. To even keep them from being turned as she was." He raised his hands as both men opened their mouths at the same time. "Don't ask me how; she didn't go that far into specifics.

She also confirmed that the vampire who turned her — she called him a 'sire' — arrived last night, and that she thought she had probably convinced him to stop ripping his victims apart in favour of her method." He grimaced. "That's the good news. The bad news is that he is indeed here and we now have him to contend with as well."

Taking a contemplative sip, Miles spoke up. "I don't suppose she gave this sire a name? Whether or not it's the same as he had in life, it would at least give us something to call him."

"Well… yes and no." Roy began slowly spinning the cup on the table, watching the way the movement rippled the liquid inside. "She started to say his name, and then thought better of it. All I got was a letter that sounded like 'kuh.' Like a K or a hard C." He gave each of them a significant look. "She also told me that this guy knows us, has never liked us, and we've never liked them." A shrug. "I've made my fair share of enemies, but very few of them have names that start with a sound like that."

"Did you venture a guess?" Scar asked, his face and voice deceptively calm.

"Yeah. King Bradley." He shook his head. "She wouldn't confirm or deny, though. She had already said too much."

"Hmm." The big man was silent a moment, contemplating, then said, "It may not be Bradley."

They waited, but he did not elaborate, merely alternating between sipping at his tea and staring into the depths of the cup. Finally, Miles pressed, "And why do you say that?"

"The Colonel asked Lieutenant Hawkeye if this new persona was that of a Homonculus," Scar pointed out. "She was insulted by the idea; called them 'freaks.'" The broad shoulders lifted and fell in an expressive shrug. "If her sire were King Bradley, he would not harbour the same hatred. Hatred that it is fair to assume she inherited from her sire."

Roy nodded slowly as it sank in. "If Bradley were the sire, he would have pride in this new form, but no animosity for what he was before. Same for if it were any other Homonculus, which means we're looking in a completely different direction."

Miles gave a half-felt smile. "Just how long is that list of enemies, Colonel?"

"A month ago? Too long. Now, the majority of them are gone, thanks to the Promised Day." Roy sat back, bracing himself on both hands. "The Homonculi, their Father, the Command Council, that doctor that was working for them —" He stopped, one thought occurring with a weight that settled, heavy and dark, in his chest.

"…Somebody that knows Hawkeye and myself," he repeated slowly. "Somebody that never liked either of us, somebody that we never liked… somebody that would be just fine with using her to get to me…."

He saw the light of recognition dawn in both their faces at the same time. A man they both knew as well; a man they had every reason to hate just as much as he did. It was Miles that voiced the name.

"Fucking Kimblee."


	24. Prey for the Trap

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I apologize for the brevity of this chapter; it's only short by about a page, but my faithful laptop finally gave up the ghost this week and although I write on my desktop computer, I lost some time for writing thanks to dealing with that. I think it still turned out well, though. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-four - Prey for the Trap**

PLAZA, INHABITED ZONE, JADAD

1033 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

His Lieutenant was a fully-fledged, blood-drinking vampire currently holed up with one of his oldest enemies and, while not particularly liking him, still helping said enemy (also a vampire, it must be noted) to perpetuate attacks on the civilians of a slowly recovering formerly oppressed nation for their blood, for the aforementioned drinking.

And Roy was sitting under an open-side pavilion, cutting squares of cloth and lengths of cord for anti-vampire protection charms.

Beside him, sitting comfortably cross-legged and surrounded by bowls of charm ingredients, Scar's Master worked in companionable silence. The cloth squares went to him, and he filled them with a palmful of holy sand, a rune of protection wrought in silver wire, and three small garlic flowers. The lengths of cord went to Miles, who also took the filled clothes squares, which he formed into pouches and tied securely shut. At a table a few feet away, Scar was busy distributing the finished charms to a curious public.

"What is he telling them?" Roy asked, keeping his voice low in case anyone in earshot spoke Amestrian.

The Master didn't look up, but smiled. "He does not tell the truth, but he does not lie. The people are told that they are religious charms to bring them Ishvala's divine protection." Reaching out, he plucked a rune from a bowl. "Which, in essence, is exactly true."

Roy nodded in understanding. "He's just not telling them what they need the protection from. Anyone who didn't believe would call us crazy and those that did could start a panic."

Nodding in return, the Master set aside the completed mixture. "And those that don't accept the charm will have to rely, however unknowingly, on the increased night patrols we'll be sending out." He picked up the next square, holding it cupped in one palm while adding ingredients with his free hand. Each patroller will have several spare charms on their person, and be a fully trained warrior priest."

Roy's stomach twisted nervously. Riza's skills in hand-to-hand combat were good by Amestrian military standards… but she had never been fully pitted against someone with Scar's training. Her new strength and speed might serve her well… but would it be enough to keep her from being seriously hurt?

"I can at least vouch that the charms work," he said, trying to swallow the tightness in throat he was beginning to associate with worry. "She was staying a good distance away when we ran into her the other night. He hesitated, then added, "And it may have given us a way to help the real Hawkeye get control of herself."

Miles head snapped up, the partially-tied charm in his hands forgotten. The Master's reaction was more subdued, though he evidenced no less interest. "Oh? And how do you think it could help that way?"

Reaching down, Roy plucked at his own charm, letting it fall back against his chest. "Because when I pressed this against her chest, I got two minutes with the Lieutenant Hawkeye I know."

Frowning, Miles started in on the charm in his hand again, but now he glanced up periodically to continue the conversation. "So the charm doesn't just repel the vampires. If it gets close enough to the Lieutenant, it negates the false personality altogether." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I right in thinking you have an idea to use that to your advantage?"

He shrugged, passing another three squares to the Master. "You would be very right. I mean, it's already been inadvertently field-tested. The trick would be to get the charm actually around her neck. Last night, all I did was hold it to her for maybe… ten seconds? And all that bought me was less than two vampire-free minutes."

"I don't mean to discourage your plan," the Master said, his tone the low and gentle cadence of the teacher he was, "but as long as we're exploring the ins and outs of a possible plan…. How long do you think wearing a charm will suppress the vampire personality?"

"I don't know," Roy admitted. "I would think that it would keep it suppressed indefinitely… but you're right. For all we know, the vampire could develop a tolerance through prolonged exposure, or maybe it was all an elaborate ploy and it didn't actually work at all…." He shook his head in resignation. "But we have to try something, and as far as I know, we don't have any other plan in the works."

The Master was watching as Roy spoke, his expression unreadable, but quietly contemplative. He paused a moment when Roy had finished, then said, "I agree, but there are still doubts in my mind. Have you considered what may happen if the charm does not affect her as you expect?"

"What do you mean?"

"We know how she reacts to a brief exposure, assuming, as you said, that it was a real reaction," the Master pointed out. "Ten seconds, you said. And so far, we've spoken about using it against her with an effect that is beneficial… but consider the possible long-term adverse effects." He set aside the latest square of charm ingredients, ticking of points on his fingers. "Suppose, after a while, holding back the vampire persona begins to cause her pain, or alter her mental state, or makes her ill. What then?"

Roy was quite a moment, cutting new squares and lengths of cord, thinking through the new information and trying to amalgamate it with his fledgling plan…. Trying to find a way to get back that wouldn't involve hurting her any more than she already was. "And if she were to come into skin contact with the silver rune in the pouch, or any of its contents, that could hurt too," he said finally. "It would burn her like the sand did."

Miles had been quietly following the exchange the whole time, and now he broke in. "Would it help determine what to do if we could ask the Lieutenant? Not this vampire alter ego of hers, but the genuine Riza Hawkeye?"

One eyebrow lifted in surprise, Roy looked toward the northern Major. "Since its her body that has to go through wearing the charm, if we decide to go that route, then I'd say it's only fair she get a chance to voice her opinion." His look turned doubtful. "Though I'm not sure how we'll get to ask. I don't think she'll be letting anyone close enough to hit her with a charm, and it might not last long enough if we did."

A small, sly smile tugged at Miles' lips. "That would be a part of overall plan… But the first step is getting the vampire cornered in one place that she can't escape from, and were her new friend can't get to her either. Once she's there, we'll have all the time in the world to find a way to talk to the Lieutenant and form a real plan."

A thrill of anticipation wriggled pleasantly in Roy's chest, along with the skip in his pulse and the momentary hitch in his breath. He grinned back at the other man; Miles had the beginnings of a truly sneaky plan… and maybe that was just what they needed. "Well, don't just keep it to yourself. What do you have in mind?"

"It's going to take some time to set up, so we'd best start as soon as we're done here today. But to start with, we're going to need a place that's out of the way while not being too far from the settled areas…."

* * *

MARKETPLACE, UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD

2043 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

It had been full dark for nearly two hours before Roy, watching from the shadows of an alley, finally saw her emerge from the abandoned inn. She paused on the street, looking for all the world like a tourist waiting for a taxi… or a travelling companion.

"No sign of the other one," he murmured a moment later, when Riza remained alone, idly stretching with her gaze on the stars. Her movements were lithe, catlike… full of deadly grace. Self-consciously, he tugged the hood of his borrowed dark cloak further around his face."Either he's already left, or else he doesn't plan on hunting tonight."

"The Lieutenant's habits suggest that it isn't absolutely necessary that they feed every night," Scar agreed from his place crouched behind a dust-covered crate. "But given his habits in the west and the fact that he just crossed a desert with limited supplies of blood, I would think he would — ah. There."

If Riza hadn't turned to look into the shadows of the hallway behind her, Roy might not have seen the figure standing there. The vampire wore a dark suit, his hands in his pockets, and his stance — what Roy could discern in the darkness — one of laid-back insolence. The only parts of him that stood out were his white shirt and the pale oval of his face.

Roy leaned forward, squinting slightly as though the action could somehow help him see better. "Does that look like Kimblee to either of you? I can see it in the posture, and he's certainly the right building, but…."

"If he were wearing that ridiculous white suit, I'd be more sure," Miles said. Like Roy, he was swathed in a dark cloak, standing close against the wall in its deepest shadows. "But even though I can't make his feature out, it definitely does look like him."

"It is Kimblee," Scar said darkly, red eyes fixed on the man in the shadows partway around the plaza. "The vampire has a very faint aura about him, but what there is has traces of the man he used be… and I remember that." He shifted slightly, though whether in anger or anticipation, Roy didn't know. "He and I have unfinished business."

"So do I," Miles muttered.

Roy stared across the plaza, watching the two figures, one in white and the other in black, as Kimblee emerged into the was a good amount of space between them; they didn't even appear to be holding a conversation… but the thought still nagged at him of what the thing in Riza's body had said after his rejection of her….

"… _Perhaps it_ would _be a fitting punishment for turning me down. Maybe I_ will _let him have a little fun._ "

It had been over twelve hours since that little insinuation. They had spent the daylight hours sequestered in darkness, sleeping through the sun's travel across the sky. Alone? In each other's company? It almost didn't matter, since it was plenty of time for them to have — _no_. He clamped down firmly on the thought before he could complete it, adt the same time as he suppressed a shudder from going down his spine. There was, he hoped, still too much hatred and distrust left from the real Riza for this new Riza to do… _that_.

"I think we can case a broader net than just the three of us as Kimblee's enemies," he murmured at last. "At this point, there isn't anyone within a day's travel that wouldn't have some kind of bone to pick with him, whether personally, or for his role in the war in general." His lip twisted in a grim smile. "We might be farther ahead to paint him as Public Enemy Number One."

"Gladly," Miles answered. "Though is still leaves us with the problem of how to bring him down."

Scar hadn't moved, his gaze still on the pair of vampires. The one in Riza's body had moved to sit on a crate beside a long-abandoned vendor's stall, while Kimble was still standing with his hands in his pockets, head tilted back to survey the stars. "I believe we should keep to the original plan, though it would be better to get her alone before we try to put it in motion."

"Here's hoping she hates him enough to avoid going hunting with him," Miles commented. "If we don't get lucky and she doesn't go off on her own…."

"She will," Roy said firmly. "Even if he _is_ her sire, she made ti clear to me that she's only sticking around him out of mutual interest in their own survival as vampires." He shrugged, the motion uneasy. "Necessity, not shared ideals. I'm sure, if she had any other choice —"

Scar held up a hand for silence, then pointed one finger across the marketplace. Words were clearly finally being exchanged between the two vampires, though sound had no hope of carrying this far. Kimblee's stance hadn't changed at all, his shoulder relaxed as he stood directly in front of her crate perch. Riza sat with perfect, straight-backed prim posture, her dangling feet crossed at the ankle and her hands folded in her lap. There was some kind of back-and-forth that lasted only half a minute —

And Roy's stomach clenched as Kimblee took a step forward to peck her gently on the cheek before turning and striding off into the night.

All three men were quiet a moment longer, watching her watch him leave with a neutral expression in those amethyst eyes. Finally, with deliberate slowness, she scrubbed her sleeve across her cheek, wiping away any trace of this kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy was aware of Scar's gaze turning briefly in his direction — to gauge his reaction, no doubt — but kept his eyes on Riza.

 _It's not her,_ he reminded himself. _It's her body, but it's not her mind. Your Riza isn't in charge, so it's not her fault…._ But all the rationalizing in the world couldn't stop the jealousy from bubbling, hot and acidic, in his stomach.

After what seemed like ages, though it was only a few minutes, Riza slipped from her seat beside the table, dusted herself off, and set off at a leisurely pace just to the right of their position.

"Time to pull back and get into our secondary position," Miles murmured, now doubly careful to keep his voice low. None of them knew exactly how far a vampire's sense of hearing could reach, but they also weren't particularly keen to find out. "As long as she doesn't use that string travel method like did to escape the _yantir_ , we should be able to get there in time."

Getting to their feet, the three men ran quietly as they could back down the alley, paralleling Riza's current path, but needing to move faster in order to gain ground.

As they got up to leave, Roy was the only one to look back at her over shoulder… but he doubted he was the only praying that this would work.

* * *

INHABITED ZONE OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

2103 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

The time spent away from Kimblee's presence was pleasurable, even if she could still feel the faint pressure of his mind against the edge of hers. Since arriving, it seemed like all he had done was hunt, rest, and talk. In all honesty, the third option was the worst of the three. With hunting being restricted to a few hours at might and vampires not needing an overabundance of sleep… talking held the majority vote.

Riza wouldn't have minded so much if he actually talked about things that interested her or were of some use. Things like literature, culture, places like East City or Central… he••, she would have settled for firearm technical specifications or dogs. Instead, she got his war memories from Ishval, stories from his time in prison, how to fool psychologists into overlooking very obvious psychopathic tendencies, and an accounting of his 'work' with the Homonculi and their Father before he had been eaten.

She had learned exactly one useful thing in all his babbling: to him, there was no separation of before-Kimblee and vampire-Kimblee. The two were one and the same, unlike before-Riza and vampire-Riza. He had accepted his vampirism wholeheartedly; she still had some assimilating to do.

Finally free of him until daylight broke and she was forced to be sequestered in the inn room that adjoined his — another one of his ideas and one that she was not at all thrilled with — she was content to take her time with her own hunt. A nice stroll to the residential neighbourhoods, a lovely, private dinner, and —

Rounding a corner, into what had once been a quiet street of well-to-do homes, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of a male figure in the open archway of a faded, flaking stucco façade. The man looked up and immediately stood tall, straightening his tunic in… was he self-conscious? Nervous about seeing her?

A little thrill convulsed in her chest and slithered its way down into her belly. If she still had the ability to make Roy Mustang self-conscious and nervous as a schoolboy on his first date… maybe he wasn't a lost cause after all.

She let her most sultry smile spread across her lips; just because she still had half a mind to seduce the man didn't mean she didn't like the way he squirmed when he saw her pointed teeth. "Well, isn't this a surprise…. Out taking the air, fire boy?" She slid a few metres closer. "Weren't you listening yesterday when I told you that monsters come out at night?"

He didn't smile, but his tone was civil. "I didn't think you could possibly be referring to yourself when you said that. You're not a monster." Those dark eyes met hers, looking solemn and fathomless in the shadows. "Although I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been hoping I'd run into you."

"Oh, is that so?" She stopped at the bottom of the three stone steps leading up to the archway where he stood. "Now, why don't I believe that — oh!" She snapped her fingers, eyes wide in a satire of sudden knowledge. "That's right; because you already proved that you're pissed off that I took over pretty little Riza's body, won't give it back, and that I happen to think humans are tasty." She pouted sarcastically. "Maybe you're also mad that I drank your tea this morning?"

It was easy to see that he was discomfited by her reading of him, not to mention her little performance, but he kept himself collected. He even managed a small smile. "Actually, I'm not mad at all about that. In fact…." He turned, bending to pick something up from behind the arch's side. Riza's pout disappeared, her body tensing as she prepared to dodge whatever he was about to attack her with.

Instead, when he turned back and straightened, he was holding a small stoneware jar and pair of cups. "I brought tea with me. I thought, if I did happen to run into you and you didn't immediately try to kill me, we could share it this time, instead of you simply stealing mine."

It was impressive, really, that in the space of any conversation with him, she could go from wanting to tumble him buck naked in the sand to wanting him to just _leave_. The look she gave him now was far from the sultry start of barely a minute earlier. "Right," she drawled sardonically. "Should I look away so that you can add the poison, or is it already mixed into the tea?"

"It's not poisoned," he answered, turning and walking into the abandoned house. "I might not like it, but that's still my Lieutenant's body you're possessing. If I try to hurt you, I just end up hurting her… and that's something I can't do."

She paused in the archway, watching as he moved into the middle of the house's inner courtyard. Tarpaulins stretched overhead, blotting out the moon and stars and creating a shelter out of what would normally have been an open-air space. Colonnades lined the little square, which held a hollow that might have once been a fountain or decorative pond. He sat down on the edge, looking around with… he seemed contented, almost, as though there weren't a deadly supernatural creature lurking just behind him.

"Odd place for you to wind up when you're supposedly just 'out for a walk,'' she commented, not moving any closer. Something felt off about this…. He was too calm, too in control, his answers too prepared…. No matter what he said, it was clear he had been waiting for her… but how had he known she would come this way?

He glanced back over his shoulder, smiling. "We were considering this house as an outpost for the Reconstruction Office, once we start to build up a little more in this direction. We scouted the location the other day, and I liked the architecture enough that I wanted to see it again." He waved a hand at the courtyard's perimeter. "Nobody builds with colonnades like these in Amestris, until it's in the south, close the Aerugonian border."

"Pretty dark for a human's eyes," she pointed out, drifting cautiously closer, just inside the square formed by the colonnade. "Isn't it hard to appreciate architecture when you can't see?"

His sudden grin was boyish, if short-lived. "Not for long. Promise not to tell the Ishvalans?"

Without warning, he clapped his hands together before snapping the fingers of his left hand. A double handful of small fireballs shot out in every direction, zooming straight through the air to slam into the heads of torches sitting in sconces at intervals around the yard. Riza jumped briefly as one flashed past a mere metre away, her eyes blinking in the sudden flare of torchlight.

When the light spots cleared, Roy was already at work, pouring still steaming tea from the stone jar into the pair of cups sitting next to him on the sand-covered tiles. Picking one up, he held it out to her. "Come on; I figure that if you're going to be possessing my Lieutenant for the foreseeable future, I should at least make some effort to get to know you."

She watched him for a moment, trying with all her psychic senses to detect some kind of deceit, some kind of hint as to what he really wanted… but now. Apparently, he really did want her to drink the tea, to stay and talk for a while, to just… be companionable. His mind wasn't entirely truthful about it, that much was clear… but she suspected it was because he was lying to himself about how he felt about this. He was _forcing_ himself to be okay with this situation, but for her, it was harmless.

Besides, if she talked long enough, perhaps she could win him over. Roy already hated Kimblee, probably more than she did. If she could get him relaxed enough to let down his guard, to take off that stupid protective charm, then maybe she could get close enough…. Just one little bite, and then he would be hers. Turn him, use him to help her dethrone Kimblee, and then the two of them could….

She shook herself mentally, pushing her sudden daydream to one side. Cross the sand and flagstones, she took the cup with a softly murmured 'thank you,' settling down with it just out of reach of the malevolent energy emanating from that homely-looking cloth pouch around his neck. She sniffed her cup, watching suspiciously until he took a sip from his own. Hers held no foreign scent other than fragrant jasmine, and, as he had said, to poison her was to poison his own lady love. He would no more hurt her than he would the real Riza Hawkeye.

"So it occurs to me," he said, after a moment, "that I actually don't know what to call you." When she looked up at him, he shrugged. "I mean, you're not Riza as I know her, but you're still… at this point, you're more a part of her, I suppose. So do I still call you Riza, or Hawkeye? Or is there some other name that you use that you would prefer?"

She waved away the concern with an airy hand. "It doesn't matter much to me. Identity is a small concern next to survival, when you essentially have to forage for your food." She watched his expression go blank, likely so he wouldn't betray his own distaste, and kept going. "I still think of my name as being Riza, but if it helps you differentiate, calling me Hawkeye wouldn't bother me either."

"I see." His shoulders tensed as he visibly braced himself to ask his next question. "And how are things with Kimblee?"

"I think you mean 'how are things with the windbag.'" She grinned at the surprise that crossed his face. "I think being in solitary confinement for so many years had more of an effect on him than he's willing to admit. He just won't stop _talking_."

"Really?"

"Yes, and it's getting tiresome, even after only one day." She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of tea. "About the only interesting thing he would talk about is how much he wants to mess with you." She raised an eyebrow. "I told you, didn't I, the entire reason why he turned me?"

Roy nodded, the look in his eyes far away and introspective. "Yes…. You said it was to get revenge on me, since he and I have been on opposite sides from day one. I would have thought he had bigger fish to fry than me, but maybe it was just a case of wrong place, wrong time."

She tilted her head first one way, than the other, weighing the opinion. "Mmmmm, partly, but that's not all of it. Mostly, yes, you were just the closest person on whom he could vent his spleen, but the other part of it is just sheer pettiness on his part." She shook her head, disapproving. "You were chosen as a human sacrifice instead of him. Granted, he was mauled by Heinkel and then eaten by Pride, but if he'd had the chance, he would have jumped at the offer to be a human sacrifice for the Homonculi."

Roy laughed humourlessly, downing the contents of his cup. "He could have traded with me if he hadn't been eaten. I wouldn't have minded not being blinded.

'That's what I told him." She rolled her eyes in derision. "But he spouted some nonsense about how it would have allowed him to first make a massive change in the world and then watch the aftereffects of that change. But, unfortunately, fate had other ideas."

A voice rang out from the shadows of the colonnade. "All right, Colonel, we're clear."

Riza's head whipped around to the archway they had entered by, to find Scar and Miles standing just inside the archway, outside the colonnades. "…Gentlemen? I didn't realize there were going to be other guests at this party." Her purple eyes suspicious, she turned back to Roy. "Seems the sort of thing you ought to have warned a lady about, Colonel."

"Would you have stayed if I did?" His tone was flat, his eyes and expression hard. "Although now… I doubt you have much of a choice."

She laughed, setting her cup aside as she got to her feet. "You've still got a lot to learn about my and my kind. Thanks for the drink, but four's a crowd. I'll be on my way."

He got up as well, facing her. "I understand enough to know that you're staying right here," he said firmly. "You and I still need to have a talk, and I'm not satisfied by five minutes of chitchat over tea." His arms folded over his chest. "I told you before, you might look like my Lieutenant, but you're not her by a long shot. And I have no problem interrogating an imposter."

Anger suffused her chest, wanting to escape her throat in a snarl, but she held it back by virtue of her gritted teeth. She stalked forward a pair of steps, intent on showing this lowly, insolent human who was in control here… and recoiled as the stench coming from that tiny little pouch assailed her.

"If you think that little charm is going to be enough to keep me here, it's exactly the opposite," she spat. Turning toward the archway, she glared daggers at Scar and Miles, both men watching her with stone faces. "If the two of you know what's good for you, you'll step aside before you get thrown."

Scar's voice was calm and cool, but with a hint of frost at the edges. "That won't be necessary."

Riza was still stalking toward them, just beginning to ready her muscles for the task of throwing aside two fully grown men, when she fetched up face-first against and invisible barrier. She rebounded with the redirected momentum, lost a brief battle with equilibrium, and dropped backward into the dirt.

"I tried to warn you," Roy commented mildly. He hadn't moved from his spot, knowing he was safe from her so long as he kept the charm on him. "We've tweaked the protective circle since we last used it for the _yantir_ , so now it doesn't just keep demons inside." His lips twitched in a thin smile. "It keeps vampires, too."

Even in a dire situation such as this, her heart rate was still far slower than the average human's. And as the gravity of this new situation began to creep in, Riza felt her heart sinking, down through her stomach to settle as an uneasy feeling deep in her gut. She, the hunter, was now very much the prey.


	25. Last-ditch Efforts

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and a happy long weekend to all those with one! Mine is a busy one; personal projects, dinner with the in-laws, and moving furniture that has been at my mother's for far too long. Thank you all for being so patient with the lack of a chapter last week; with the death of my laptop and an influx of work at my job, things got pretty busy and I was just too tired to write when I got home. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it a little. Enjoy!  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-five - Last-ditch Efforts**

UNINHABITED ZONE OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

2327 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

Nearly two hours, and she hadn't said a word.

Roy had expected that his Lieutenant could be as tight-lipped as a clam – especially about the nature of their relationship – and there had been no reason to think that the vampire version of her would be any different. They had asked her questions, but none of her responses had been anything remotely resembling an answer.

She hadn't been silent, by any means. Roy's first question, a very calm, simple "Will you let me speak to my Lieutenant?" had been rebuffed by a stream of invective so blistering and colourful that he had to question where Riza had heard half the words for the vampire to recall. He had been thunderstruck, Miles had flushed red, and all further questioning was left to Scar, who had appeared only slightly taken aback.

He sat just outside the circle that held the vampiress captive, his hands resting on the ankles of his crossed legs. Miles and Roy had retreated to the second floor wraparound balcony, where they could observe without being intrusive as Scar calmly asked questions. He spoke languidly, red eyes watching her every move. Each question was followed by a pause of several minutes, giving her ample time to answer or make another snappish remark.

"He's good," Roy commented in a near whisper, so the vampiress' hearing would be less likely to pick it up. "Most other interrogators I've known would lose their patience after half an hour of stonewalling like this. He's as together as ever."

"I'm not sure," Mikes murmured back, "but I think he might be meditating in between questions." He pointed to where Riza was slowly prowling back and forth across the circle with the air of a caged tiger. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's counting her footsteps, using it like a mantra. Counting like that is a common enough technique in a warrior's training, at least according to what I've heard."

Looking over, idly curious, Roy asked, "Did you have any Ishvalan warrior training before you enlisted? Seems like the sort of thing that might come in handy."

Miles was already shaking his head. "My grandfather only passed down traditions and culture. He wasn't a warrior himself, so he didn't know all their ways, just bits and pieces, here and there. They keep most of their training practices to themselves." A smile tugged at his mouth. "It's not exactly top secret, but they don't shout it from the rooftops, either."

"I see." Turning his gaze back to the pacing vampiress below, Roy suppressed a shiver. It had always been clear how much danger that lithe frame held in this form; every graceful, sinuous movement telegraphed it. Now, however, what had been a low warning hum was an alarm klaxon on full volume. Much as he trusted the charms around all their necks, it felt safer to have the invisible barrier of the circle. And speaking of the charms….

"If she won't answer questions in this form, she'll likely do it as herself." He frowned. "The question is how to get the charm around her neck without getting bitten."

Miles shook his head again. "I can't help you there. You have the most face-to-face experience with this particular lady, not to mention the Lieutenant. We're relying on you to tell us if, when we get Lieutenant Hawkeye back, the vampire personality starts to take over again." One shoulder rose and fell in a half-shrug. "Though I agree, the trick is going to be getting the charm around her neck in the first place."

"At the moment, all I can think of is to tackle her, all three of us, and one of us slips the charm over her head." He watched her pacing for another moment, then got to his feet. "Of course, we could always try the direct approach." He gestured for Miles to stay seated as the Ishvalan man made to rise. "This is something I should do myself. It's going to call for a high amount of risk, and I won't ask anyone to shoulder that. Not this time."

He made it a handful of steps toward the stairs before a loud thud sounded from the roof, beyond the tarpaulins that stretched overhead.

* * *

Tension would not allow her to sit still, would not allow her to stand her ground and stare down the red-eyed man gazing at her with steady calmness. It was a calm she herself was having trouble holding onto. It was somewhat concerning, considering that this new form was capable of such stunning anger she had yet to plumb the depths of. If she let loose with it in a space she had no ready way out of, she might just end up injuring herself.

"What has Kimblee said about his long-term plans?" Scar intoned, his voice as serene and cold as a glacier.

"Eat shit," she spat, glaring daggers at the man. First, his temple's blasted blessed sand had burned her hands, then the priest had done… whatever it was that a _yantir_ consisted of. Whatever the blue light was that also hurt… and then the Colonel had pulled his little stunt with that ludicrous fashion nightmare of a charm. Now he was sitting up there on the second level with that Miles character, the two of them whispering like schoolgirls at a slumber party.

Reaching up, she rubbed her forehead, turning to pace back across the diameter of the circle. Whatever sorcery was at work in the thing affected her like the one from the _yantir_ had not. It left her thoughts feeling sluggish, with slight pressure close to her eyes as though she were developing a sinus headache. Granted, the whole charade could be classified as a headache in and of itself.

"Has Kimblee killed any other people than the ones we know about?" Scar asked, his voice never wavering from monotonous and steady.

"Probably you," she shot back, coming to a stop. "You just don't realize you're dead yet."

"A man who discards his name is dead in the eyes of God," he countered blandly.

Ignoring him, she looked up as Roy got to his feet, starting for the stairs. Either coming to join in on the amateurish grilling session, or to take over. Well, he was welcome to try; he'd get no farther than his reluctant partner.

She was just concocting the perfect blend of insult and invective to hurl Roy's way once he came down when there was a highly noticeable thud from the roof.

Riza's head snapped back, her circle-dulled senses straining for the aura of the man who must have just arrived… there. It was fuzzy, as though the rippling water cover Kimblee had once applied to his face was now cloaking his thoughts. He detected her wavering mental touch, returning reassurance and assertions of hope.

She rolled her eyes and began pacing once again; she needed no sympathy from him. She wasn't even sure she needed help to escape this circle. All she really did need was for one of her third-rate 'captors' to get just the slightest bit careless….

After the initial sound of the roof landing, silence resumed in the courtyard, broken only by the urgent murmurings from Roy and Miles. The Major got to his feet, moving to the railing, his fingers curling around the wrought iron. Riza's eyes flicked from him to the circle etched in the sand on the ground… no, he wasn't inside it. Pity; she could have had control of this situation now, instead of having to wait.

At the very least, the waiting period for Kimblee to make his entrance was not long at all. He appeared in a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard from where Roy and Miles stood, his black suit buttoned neatly and his hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. His smile was thin and icy as he stared down his three enemies.

"Gentlemen," he purred in a dangerous tone. His purpled eyes glinted in the shadows. "Interesting setup you have here. I expected I'd be able to come down through the centre, but aside from the tarp cover, you seem to have found a way to create invisible barriers." His gaze went from Miles to Scar with cold disdain. "Ishvalan devilry of some kind, no doubt."

"If it were devilry, you'd have no trouble with it," Roy quipped. "It's the divine that's causing you problems."

The cold gaze went back to him, and Riza watched as Kimblee's lip pulled back in a sneer. "And yet you put your dear Lieutenant at the centre of it? You defy your usual reputation for taking care of your subordinates, Colonel."

The anger was evident in Roy's face, his fingers gripping the wrought iron railing of the balcony hard enough to turn the knuckles white. "The way I see it, by keeping her away from you, I _am_ taking care of her, which is a damn sight more than you've ever done for anyone. All you've ever done is cause death, despair, and destruction wherever you go, for superiors and subordinates alike."

Again, the cold smile stretched Kimblee's lips in an expression that was more grimace than anything else. He held up his hands, palms outward to show the tattoos that stood out starkly on the pale skin. "That _is_ the name of my proverbial game, Mustang."

Stopping just below where they stood on the balcony, Riza watched as Roy's eyes locked on those tattoos, his eyes widening slightly. _Oh… he forgot about those…._ A kind of malicious glee spread hot and constricting across her chest, making her want to giggle, but she held it back. She still believed she didn't need Kimblee's help to escape this… but perhaps she would _allow_ him to help her.

Refusing to back down, even in the face of this new threat, Roy's eyes narrowed, glaring at his old enemy. "And you don't have any principles to stop you from using your alchemy in a place where the native people hate it," he countered. Defiantly, he folded his arms, chin held high. "I'll fight you one-on-one any other time or place, but just now, I'm a little busy." He indicated Riza with a small tilt of his head. "If and when I'm free, though, since my hosts don't like alchemy, I'll have to save my flames for another time."

A humourless laugh rasped harshly in Kimblee's throat. "You always were the holier-than-thou type. Nice to know that some personalities only get better with age."

Her current spot had left her close enough now to hear the quiet comment of "Sir, are you sure about this?" from Miles. Concern was heavy in his voice, his eyes steady and wary on Kimblee. "If he brings the building down —"

"He won't," Roy responded, then raised his voice. His dark eyes were as hard as two chips of obsidian, confident and cold in d the flickering torchlight. "That's the thing about coming after old adversaries, isn't it. You forget that there's a good chance they know all your tricks." A smirk tugged at his lips. "And the Kimblee I remember was more about going straight for that all-important explosion, not bandying words with his intended victims." One eyebrow lifted. "So where's the explosion?"

The vampire's jaw clenched visibly, his cheeks flushing a dark crimson in fury. His tattooed hands clenched into fists, then relaxed again, clearly looking to be wrapped around Roy's neck. Riza held her breath, waiting to see what the outcome would be. Roy was calling an extremely dangerous bluff and if he pushed it too far….

Wordlessly, Kimblee brought his palms together in a dark parody of Edward Elric or even Roy's own newfound circleless alchemy. Without taking his glaring eyes from Roy, he clamped his left hand to the doorjamb. Riza tensed, heard the hissing intake of breath from Miles….

And nothing happened.

Her head whipped around to Roy as he spoke, her heightened hearing catch the faint, relieved waver in his otherwise steady tone, and her sharp eyes picking up the slightest tremble in the hand he laid casually on the railing. "What's the matter? Cat got your alchemy?"

"Please stop goading him," Miles murmured, nearly inaudibly, and Riza almost agreed with him. Roy was walking an already precariously thin line that was starting to narrow and, sooner of later, he was going to slip off of it.

Finally, she broke her silence, taking a pair of steps forward to addres Kimblee directly. "If you're holding back so that I don't get caught in whatever blast you conjure, don't bother." When his gaze shifted to her, still unreadable, she shrugged. "It would break the circle and then I'd be free to escape on my own."

"That's not why there was no blast."

She looked back, annoyed at Roy's interruption. "No offense, Colonel, but I'm ready to leave and its clear I'll have to make my own exit, so if you would very kindly butt out?"

The look he gave her was cold. "He isn't holding back out of fear of hurting you. I thought he might be, at first, but you have to remember that he has the same basic disregard for others that he had in his human life. It would mean literally nothing if he took you out in a blast, as long as he got at least one of us as well." His eyes narrowed. "So if he isn't using his alchemy, it's because he can't."

An ominous silence descended on the courtyard, broken only by the crackling of the torches as they burned. Roy stared down Kimblee for a minute longer before turning and heading for the stairs once again. The vampire watched him go for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height.

"Alchemy may have been the flashier option for crushing you whelps," he growled, "but it's far from the only one."

The step forward that he took would have been menacing, had he not rebounded - like Riza had — off of an invisible barrier. He stood for a moment, looking perplexed, long, pale fingers reaching out to stroke the air. "…I had thought the barrier would be at the far edge of the walkway." His eyes flashed. "Else you would be leaving yourselves open to an attack from the Lieutenant in the centre."

"As well as attacks from the outside," Miles replied. He pointed across the yard to where the first floor walls met the stone bricks of the colonnade pathway. "So the circle holding the Lieutenant is inside another, larger circle… to keep you out."

Riza had begun looking for the second circle when Miles pointed, but the deep shadows inside the colonnade hid the telltale markings. She looked back over her shoulder as a footstep shuffled in the sand behind her. She turned fully as Roy stopped several feet away, his face impassive and a protection charm in his hand.

"Riza, if you're in there," he murmured, then hesitated, rephrasing. "…You _are_ in there. If you can hear me… you know I hate to do this, but it's the only way I can think of to get us started." He paused again, staring her in the eye. "Unless you'd like to just give up? Save me the trouble?'

A lot of things were starting to look better than facing down a doubtless angry, increasingly desperate, flame-wielding alchemist… but this was _her_ vessel now, and she would fight to keep it. So she squared her shoulders, giving him a look of cool contempt. "Do your worst, but just remember who's waiting to come back if I tap out." Her teeth showed in a menacing, final grin. "Whatever you do to me, she'll be the one to feel it in the morning, so to speak."

"Duly noted."

She backed away when he came too close for the two charms – his and the one intended for her — to be easily bearable. Saliva flooded her mouth in preparation to vomit at the sheer repulsiveness, her shoulders rising with tension as she swallowed the urge to retch. The things smelled like three-day-old raw sewage under a hot sun next to a pile of pungent, rotting vegetation that housed a passel of roadkill skunks.

And they were _wearing_ the thrice-blasted things like costume jewelry.

"I appreciate the thought, but what you've got there isn't really my style," she quipped, grinning though the expression held no strength. "I'm a gold and diamonds kind of girl."

He didn't answer, advancing on her with his lips set in a grim, determined line. There was nothing but resolve in those eyes, no pity, no sorrow, no reluctance… nothing that she could use to deter him, to sway him…. She backed away steadily, mirroring his own footsteps, all in terrible, anticipatory silence.

And as her back fetched up against the invisible walls of the circle, she had to admit — however much she hated to — that, this time, she had no way out.

Reflexively, she lifted a hand to her mouth as the nausea swelled, her eyes closing as Roy drew closer, spreading the string of the charm wide to slip it over her head. "Just relax," he murmured, his tone lending no comfort to the comforting words. "It'll be over in seconds."

She took the advice just long to draw a pair of shallow breaths. Holding the second, her eyes flashed open in a hot glare to find him a mere two feet away. She dropped her hand, the fingers curving into rigid clawlike hooks. Teeth bared, she lung forward against him, her hands slipping past his arms to grope blindly for his throat.

Roy let out a surprised yell as he fell backward, her momentum carrying her with him. His voice cut off as he landed hard on his back, to be taken up again by Miles on the second floor. In her peripheral vision, Riza saw him grip the railing, saw Scar rocket to his feet, and ignored them both. Her fingers found purchase around his neck, her thumbs falling into alignment on either side of his windpipe.

 _Just like Gluttony_ , a memory whispered to her, though no remorse accompanied it. She knelt, straddling his chest, the two of them nose to nose, teeth gritted and cold dark eyes staring into furious amethyst. Miles was still shouting, Kimblee adding urging comments in between, Scar remaining silent but tense. She could feel Roy's pulse pounding under her palms, feel a bead of sweat trickling onto her fingers, the convulsive motions of his trachea as he struggled to draw breath —

And then, from the centre of her chest, there erupted a feeling of exploding hellfire.

She released him with a scream, backpedaling across the sand, clawing at the leather cord he had managed to slip over her head. The pouch bumped against her chest, the smell and its proximity burning her sinuses, throat, and lungs like acid. Gasping, she fell against the barrier, choking and gagging on the stench, a feeling like angry red sparks travelling over every inch of her skin.

Roy struggled onto all fours, watching her with wide eyes, one hand held to his reddened neck. He coughed, sucking in a gasping, desperate breath before his eyes narrowed. "Give… her… _back_ ," he rasped, the words tearing themselves from his voicebox. "She's not yours. Give her back."

Something like a thing sheet of rock crumbled inside her mind, and a raging presence roared out of an abyss darker than any moonless night. With unerring accuracy, it made straight for the vampiress' centre of focus, slamming against it with all the force of a battering ram.

In the last moment before she herself fell into the blackness of the mental chasm, the crumbled rock reforming over her, the vampiress cursed Roy Mustang in every way, shape, and form she knew.

* * *

One moment, the vampire was awake, snarling and spitting with nothing but murder and hatred in those purple eyes, and the next, she seemed to freeze, to totter… and then she collapsed lifelessly onto the sand.

In the second-floor doorway, his view partly obstructed by his inability to pass the outer barrier, Kimblee snarled softly, then whirled and stalked off along the hallway. His partner in bloodshed was temporarily disabled — yes, _temporarily_ — but he still needed to feed. Whatever trouble she was in now, she would have to withstand it until tomorrow night, when he would be free to try to help her.

 _She should be reasonably safe_ , he told himself, emerging outside the house into the cool night air. _They wouldn't hurt their precious Lieutenant, not even if she were harbouring the reanimated spirit of King Bradley himself_.

His own survival, by rights, should be his top priority now. For the rest of the night, she was no longer his problem.

* * *

She came awake after only a few minutes, a cold sweat instantly prickling her skin and shivers beginning to wrack her. Riza didn't move, lying on her side in the sand, her eyes closed as she swallowed in disgust at the foul taste in her mouth. Her head ached, her muscles groaned from sustained tension, her jaw tight where it had been clenched. Everything just _hurt_. Even her hair hurt.

"Get a blanket," a hoarse voice rasped from nearby, movement shifting the sand beside her. A hand reached out, brushing back strands of hair — _ow_ — from her cheek. The same voice spoke, in a near whisper this time. "Up you get, Whiskygirl. I know it's late, but you can't sleep here."

Forcing her eyes open, Riza squinted in the flickering light from a ring of torches, the juddering motion playing havoc with her retinas. A tiny groan escaped her throat, her hand rising to shade her eyes. The hand stroked her hair again, and, though the motion hurt even more, she twitched away from it.

"Don't do that…." Thanks to her sluggish mind and tongue, the words came out more like 'dohh do thaaaaaaa….'

"Sorry, sorry."

She angled her hand to block the light as she forced her eyes to move, searching out the face of the person beside her. He was blurry for a moment, the features slowly returning… but she recognized the relieved smile spreading across his face. "…Roy?" She managed to get his name out, but the next words were mangled again. "Whyyy y'soun'… …fffuuh…"

He cocked his head slightly, listening as the smile faded. "…'Why do I sound funny?'" he rasped, waiting until she nodded. "Don't worry about it. Just rest for a minute, get your bearings back. You — whoa!"

He scrambled back as she suddenly pushed up on one elbow, vomiting into the sand in front of her. With nothing in her stomach, all that came up was clear saliva and burning bile. With a weak cough, she spat and laid back on the sand, the shivering starting up again, stronger this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

A heavy blanket was draped over her, and she welcomed the weight and promise of warmth. A pair of arms slipped beneath her shoulders and the curve of her knees, bearing her smoothly aloft, blanket and all. Blinking to clear the blurriness from her eyes, she frowned as she concentrated on the face.

"…Scar?"

"Don't speak," he answered gruffly, but there was no anger that she could detect in his voice. "You need to recover from the transition. Just rest."

 _The transition…?_ It came trickling back in, the memories of the last… however long? Time didn't have much meaning when you were trapped inside your own mind, unable to break out. Riza took a deep breath and closed her eyes against the lingering nausea, willing herself not to be sick all over Scar. It was a rare show of the truly kind person he could be beneath the rough exterior, and she had no desire to pay him back in such a fashion.

She was vaguely aware, beyond trying to maintain control of her rebellious stomach, that they went upwards and along a hallway, where Miles joined them. Her foot gently bumped the edge of a door as Scar angled himself to pass through it, and then he was setting her down on something soft.

The room, when she opened her eyes again, was lit once again by torches, with no windows and only a single doorway for entrance. Three sleeping pallets were arranged on the wooden floorboards, two of them empty, and herself occupying the third. Cautiously, Riza sat up as Miles and Roy entered, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders.

"Kimblee might still be waiting around," she warned, thankful that her tongue was finally getting control of itself again. Her words were understandable and becoming clearer. "It might be a good idea to stay as close to the circle —"

"There's one around the edge of this room," Miles assured her, pointing to the floor near one wall where the symbols flickered in the unsteady torchlight. "We thought it might take a lot longer to suppress your… alter ego, so we set this room up as a place to sleep or take a break, if we needed it."

Roy moved to settle on the left-hand edge of her pallet, dark eyes scrutinizing her closely. "How are you feeling now?"

She frowned at the fading but present rasp in his voice. "Improving. But you still haven't told me what's wrong with —" The memory, still fading in with the rest of them, caught in her consciousness and sent a jolt through her chest. She looked from the bright red spots on his throat to the tips of her own fingers….

"No permanent damage," he said quietly, knowing she had caught on. "And I'll take it up with the other you, if I'm unlucky enough to run into her again." His smile, when she looked up, was lopsided and boyish… but lacking in conviction. "I don't think you can actually be considered responsible."

Her own smile was just as unconvincing as his. "Yes, Officer, it's my car, but my friend was driving at the time of the accident."

"What do you remember?" Miles asked, seating himself cross-legged on the floorboards at the foot of the pallet. Scar had knelt to her right, far enough away to give her space, but close enough to strike should the vampire personality reassert itself.

"Everything, essentially." She settled herself comfortably, leaving the blanket draped over her shoulders like a large shawl, with her hands free to move as she spoke. "When I'm… the subconscious, I suppose, then it's not as though I'm asleep with no idea of what's happening. I still see everything that the vampire sees, but… as though at a distance. Something might be three feet in front of her, but to me, it looks like thirty."

"Tunnel vision?" Roy asked.

She considered that a moment, then nodded. "Something like that." Her lips pursed, briefly, concentrating on the strange experience. "That being said… I don't see it with my own eyes so much as… it's like an image projected in front of me in blackness. There's some kind of mental partitioning that separates one personality from the other; whichever one isn't currently in control is shut behind it until they can manage to break through."

"Speaking of…." Miles' eyes went to the charm around her neck. "The last time you had one of those, she came back fairly quickly after a brief exposure. You've held out for almost five minutes now; what's she doing?"

Riza shook her head. "She's not even trying. Having the charm in constant contact must be the key, because one touch only locks her away for so long." She lifted a hand to the pouch. "If I took this off, she'd be back in control within a minute."

"Any ill effects?" Scar put in, his bass rumble echoing off the stone walls.

"Aside from the transition? No." She shivered involuntarily, drawing the blanket a little closer. "I'm mostly just cold. My heart rate has been abnormally low for a day or two, so circulation alone hasn't been keeping me warm. There's a full-body ache, as well, but I suspect that's because I'm not built to run and climb along rooftops the way she likes to do." She paused, then added, "The vomiting was because of how she reacted the charm; she wasn't actually sick, but I was."

The men were quiet a moment, then Miles spoke again. "Do you feel up to answering the questions we put to her? We couldn't get any kind of answer, but if you can help…?"

"If I know the answer, you'll have it."

Scar, as the former primary interrogator, took over. "What has Kimblee said of his long-term plans?"

"As far as he's said or as I know, he doesn't have any. He wasn't thinking of building some vampire army, or even just going on a killing spree. He just… woke up this way and has been making it up as he goes." She looked to Roy. "The whole reason he turned me was to get to you. To cause you pain and stress. He resents you and I both for Ishval, still. He's been carrying that grudge all this time."

His eyebrows lifted, but only briefly. "I shouldn't be surprised. Anyone who spoke out against him in those days was dealt with sooner or later. You and I just got the 'later,' apparently." He glanced at Scar, then back to her. "Tell him what the other you told me. About keeping the vampire population down."

"Oh. Yes." She turned toward the solemn warrior. "My… other self pointed out to Kimblee that, if he goes around Jadad murdering civilians, sooner or later, he'll just be destroying the… the term she used was 'food source.' Similarly, if he just bites, feeds, and leaves the victim alive, they'll slowly turn until they're one step away from being a full vampire."

"The final step being to drink the blood of the vampire who turned them?" Miles clarified.

"Exactly." Riza's fingers toyed with the beading around the cuffs of the white _abaya_ … which was leaning toward off-white in places after the vampire had tangled with Roy earlier. "More vampires means more competition for resources, and that's something he can't afford. So unless he goes and makes a new one — which, if he doesn't think he can get me back, is very possible — he's on his own against us."

Miles glanced to his countryman. "I suppose that answers your question as to whether he's killed anyone else we don't know about."

"It does. But I have another." Red eyes were grave and solemn as Scar gazed at her steadily. "Anyone turned by this vampire develops an alter ego that slowly takes them over," he stated flatly. "So far, the only way we've found to suppress the alter ego is for the person to wear a sacred charm."

Her smile was just as grim as his eyes. "And you want to know how to get rid of the vampire personality without the victim having to wear a charm for the rest of their natural life. I've given that a lot of thought myself… and I think I have an answer, though it might bear some researching." She looked to Roy. "May I speak frankly?"

He lifted an eyebrow; she had already been perfectly blunt and straightforward. "…Go for it."

"Forgive my language, but I think the only way is to kill the bastard."


	26. Get the Gang Back

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! This week, I have discovered that the task of cosplay sewing doesn't have to interfere with my fanfic writing; I'm in crunch time for a con coming up this weekend, and sewing gives me time to think over plotlines. Convenient! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this week's chapter. Tainted Blood is now officially longer than my last long-form fic Father Figure!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-six - Get the Gang Back**

ABANDONED HOUSE, UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD

0627 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

He woke slowly, tiredness dragging at his limbs after the late night before. Roy nearly groaned aloud as he shifted position on the pallet, the movement setting off aches in his back and throat. He grimaced, coughing quietly as he forced his eyes open. The doorway, leading out to the mostly-open courtyard, was brightened by the soft grey light that signalled dawn.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked across to where Riza slept, curled on her side with one hand tucked close against her ribs, holding on to the protection charm, and the other beneath the tiny pillow attached to the bedroll. Her expression was contented, her bangs moving slightly with the exhale of each breath.

He smiled, though with a twinge of sadness. This was probably the first real, non-vampiric sleep she had had in two days or more.

Tossing aside the blanket, he got up stealthily, slipping across to drop to one knee beside her. He held a hand suspended over her shoulder, waiting… there. The faint aura of heat her body gave off brushed against his palm, something that wouldn't happen if the vampire persona were in charge. Of course, the fact that she had one hand curled around the charm vouched for her returned humanity as well.

The four of them had talked until nearly two in the morning, at which point, it became very obvious how much 'the transition' really took out of Riza. She had been struggling to stay awake, putting her usual steel-willed resolve toward continuing to answer their questions and lay plans, when Roy called a halt so that they could all rest up. She had protested, wanting to continue when the work was obviously important, but Scar had agreed that rest was in order, and Miles had followed suit. Outvoted, Riza had been asleep before the three men decided who would stand guard in case Kimblee came back.

Smiling fondly, he reached out to brush back a lock of her hair from her face. Stubborn woman, he thought, chiding gently. You deserve the rest, so take it.

Getting to his feet, he threw a quick glance at Miles on the third pallet, still fast asleep with his mouth open slightly and his hair unbound from its usual ponytail. Roy skirted around his feet to the door, stepping out into the cool morning. This far into the uninhabited zone of the city, they couldn't hear the early morning hustle and bustle of the market streets, or the temple chimes calling warriors and acolytes to prayer. All was quiet, all was still, all was peaceful.

"Are you usually this early a riser?"

Scar spoke from somewhere to his left, and Roy nearly jumped. The warrior priest has tugged aside some of the overhead tarpaulins, leaving a gap about a metre square. Sunlight came through at an oblique angle, and he sat in the patch it left on the balcony floor, keeping so still that Roy hadn't noticed him right away. His posture was the same as during the interrogation the night before; legs folded, hands in his lap, his eyes closed in apparent meditation.

"Only when I have to be. Shifts start early at Headquarters," he answered quietly, so as not to wake the others. Leaning folded arms on the railing, he looked down the sand-dusted flagstones of the courtyard. "Kimblee didn't come back at all last night?"

The warrior shook his head. "Not that I heard or saw, but I didn't expect him to try again so soon. He knows we would have been ready and protected, and he'll want to catch us vulnerable and unaware."

Roy's eyes traced the curve of the circle of runes below, his mouth in a grim line. "It's no fun for him if it isn't a surprise," he muttered darkly. "Too bad for him that, at this point, it'll be weeks before we let down our guard, now that we know he's out there and we have an encyclopedic source of information on vampires."

"Yes, I've been thinking about that." Scar stood, either finished with or abandoning his meditations. "It might be beneficial for the Lieutenant to speak to one of our scholars, to take down a complete account of… her condition."

"…In case it happens again, somehow?"

"So that history remembers." Scar folded his muscled arms, one shoulder rising and falling in a shrug. "I won't lie and say the priesthood won't use it as an example of the evils of alchemy, after the way Kimblee remade himself. But with as strange a case as this is, it should be documented."

Something about this statement set a bell ringing in Roy's mind. The way Kimblee remade himself… with alchemy…. Cautious excitement fluttered briefly in his chest at the spark of an idea. "How hard would it be to get the priesthood to condone the use of alchemy? If it were a use of a blasphemy to fight an example of blasphemy?"

A single white eyebrow lifted, red eyes going to Roy's hands. "…Fighting fire with fire? It would depend."

"On what?"

"On how good your sales pitch is," Miles' voice said from behind them, the man himself emerging, twisting his hair into its customary ponytail as he did so. He gave Roy a somewhat doubtful look. "And that's assuming, of course, that fire can kill something like him."

Roy frowned, thinking. "The legends don't give any indications as to what might do the job?"

"I remember reading about some of them, but I think a refresher course might be in order before I go trying to make suggestions," Miles answered. He leaned back against the wall, indicating the doorway to the room where Riza slept on with a tilt of his head. "And since this is a special breed of vampire… we might need specialized knowledge of them."

"From what she told us," Scar put in, "the vampire persona comes with something like instinctive knowledge of its powers and limitations. If she had that, she might also have a way to destroy Kimblee completely."

"Fair point," Roy agreed. His gaze travelled upward, to where a sliver of blue sky was visible through the gap in the tarpaulins. It was the pale, faded blue of early morning, the newly-risen sun bleaching the colour. "Miles, when you say 'refresher course,' you mean the library where we met with Scar's Master when we arrived?"

Following his gaze, and realizing what Roy must be thinking, Miles nodded. "She maybe a little weakened by the sunlight, but it's safer to move from here now that the sun is up and Kimblee is likely back in his hiding place," he said. "Whatever information she doesn't have on killing vampires, I'm hoping the library can give us."

"We'll putting civilians at a greater risk, moving to a populated area," Roy noted, folding his arms as he leaned back against the railing. "If Kimblee can't get to us or the Lieutenant, he might decide to vent his anger on bystanders."

"Civilians are already at risk, every night, with him on the loose." All three men looked up as Riza appeared in the doorway. She was still strangely pale, and had to lean on the carved stone side of the doorway for support, but her eyes were alert and bright, her lips set in determination. "The greater risk is leaving him out there, unchecked."

Scar regarded her for a moment before speaking. "Do you have any suggestions for keeping him in check?"

"Permanently? Aside from flat-out killing him, I'm afraid not." She wrapped both arms around herself in a light self-hug, the _abaya_ itself not quite enough to keep her warm in the cool morning air. "But on a temporary basis, I did have one idea." She pointed to the first floor and the symbols still sketched into the sand. "If we put a large enough circle around his hiding place, while he's sleeping during the day, could we keep him from going out at night?"

"If we knew where he was, yes." Miles was frowning, his eyes one the floor but his gaze introspective. "He knows that we had found the hiding place in the abandoned inn, and now that he no longer has backup, he may have decided it was too dangerous to stay there."

"You could sense his presence as a vampire," Scar noted. "Can you still sense him now?"

Riza was quiet a moment, then shook her head. "Only the faintest trace, and not from any particular direction." She smiled faintly. "I suppose it would be a tall order to put a circle around the entire city."

Roy returned the smile, but it faded quickly. "About the best we can hope for at this point is that we'll find some useful information quickly, and leave civilian protection to the night patrols. As long as Kimblee doesn't get impatient and start attacking indiscriminately, we should be okay."

"You're expecting him to play the long game," Miles warned. "That was never his style. And if he has the same anger management issues that Lieutenant Hawkeye developed – my apologies, Lieutenant –" She waved away the concern. "– then he's likely to retaliate even faster." His expression turned grim. "With the patrols spread as thin as they are, they may not be able to respond to an attack in time, if at all."

When Scar spoke, his tone was equally grave. "We need a new defensive plan."

A thought sparked in the back of Roy's mind, flying to the forefront. He froze, thinking it over, before slowly breaking into a smile. "…I think I might have an idea." He paused as the others all looked to him. "We need more warm bodies on the ground… and I know where we can get some."

* * *

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS, CENTRAL CITY

0943 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

It was still early enough in the day, and soon enough after his first cup of coffee, that Breda was not quite awake as he picked through the rubble of the partially destroyed office. Granted, the Colonel had been the only one working here when Father had destroyed half the garrison, but since he wasn't here to pack his own stuff into boxes for placement in the new temporary offices, it fell to him and Fuery.

"Whoa…" came the soft exclamation from across the room. "I think this is the Colonel's datebook." Breda looked over in time to see his young partner frowning at the contents of the black leather-bound volume. "…No wonder he barely ever got his work done."

"Is that his datebook, or his alchemy notes?" Breda grinned when Fuery looked up, curious. "You didn't know? The Boss codes his private research like a diary of dates with women."

Fuery's eyes strayed slowly back to the book in his hand. "…This could be either one," he muttered. "I hope Lieutenant Hawkeye never saw it. If she did, she –"

Across the room, sitting on a desk covered in glass shards and drywall dust, the telephone rang.

Both men jumped, exchanging a surprise look. "Didn't think the phones would be working up here," Breda said, getting to his feet and picking his way across the debris-strewn floor. Tarpaulins covering the blasted-out wall flapped in the spring breeze, stirring up more dust, and he turned away from it as he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" He almost added 'Colonel Mustang's office' out of reflex, but quickly stopped himself.

The audio of the voice on the other end was scratchy and overlaid with the occasional patch of static, but understandable. " _Good morning, Breda. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?_ "

"Lieutenant!" Shock widened his eyes, and he watched Fuery's head whip around in his direction. Motioning him over with one hand, he grinned into the receiver. "Good to hear your voice! Last we knew, you were missing in action!"

"Hawkeye!" Practically skidding to a stop beside the phone that Breda held away from his ear to share, Fuery radiated relief and excitement. "Hawkeye, are you okay?!"

There was a short pause as the words made the electronic journey halfway across the country. When she answered, it was clear she was smiling; she and Fuery had long had an older-sister-younger-brother kind of rapport. " _I'm as well as I can be. The Colonel tells me he told Rebecca about… what happened to me?_ "

"You mean about how you're apparently some kind of vampire, now?" Breda asked, his smile slipping, but only a little. His eyes strayed to the brightness visible beyond the tarpaulins. "Yeah, we heard. If that's the case, isn't it past your bedtime? No offense."

" _None taken. And no, I very much need to stay awake, because I have several calls and arrangements to make, and they're all extremely time-sensitive._ " She paused only to take a breath. " _How is the murder investigation progressing?_ "

The men exchanged a glance before Fuery responded. "We've done just about all we can on this end. The charges are ready to be laid whenever we catch up to the suspect." He hesitated. "Have you caught up to the suspect?"

" _…Yes, and no,_ " she hedged. " _It's complicated to explain over the phone, and like I said, I have other calls to make today. For now, answer me this: how soon can you be on a train east?_ "

She was using her usual businesslike office tone, the one that said she had a purpose and would not be deterred from it. Breda did a quick set of mental math, factoring time to get travel approval, to pack, what times the next few trains left the city…. "Probably… two hours? Two and a half?"

" _Try for two, or less if you can,_ " was the calm order. " _When you go to request travel approval from Grumman, tell him it's to come out east and help bring the killer in. You'll be meeting up with Falman and Rebecca in East City, then signing a truck out of the motor pool. It's a three day drive, but they'll take care of organizing supplies, so bring only what you need from Central._ " There was a split-second pause before she added, " _These orders are from the Colonel, by the way. I'm just the messenger. Any questions?_ "

Breda could tell just how many questions were gathering inside Fuery's head, and spoke before the younger man could. "Nothing we can ask when we get there," he said, matching her professional tone. "We'll check in before we depart East City. Anything else, sir?"

He could hear her smile on the line again. " _Just come ready to work,_ " she answered. " _And step on it. Safe travels._ "

Hanging up, the two of them stood in the disaster zone of an office for a long moment, trying to process the strange call. Orders from the Colonel, relayed by a Lieutenant they had heard was off on her own, essentially gone rogue, telling them to come to Ishval to bring in a vampiric murderer?

"I suppose it's occurred to you," Breda said slowly, "that Hawkeye, having been turned into a vampire, might have hijacked the phone lines and is trying to lure us into a trap?"

"Yeah…" Fuery answered, just as hesitantly. "But… even if that's the case… don't we owe it to her to go? And if we don't owe it to her, we at least do to the Colonel. If it weren't for them, we would have ended up being prosecuted for desertion after the Promised Day."

"My thoughts exactly," he agreed, turning toward the door, glass crunching underfoot. "But I don't think we need a reason. She gave us two hours to get a train; let's see if we can't do it in less than that."

* * *

GUN RANGE, EAST CITY MILITARY HEADQUARTERS, EAST CITY

1003 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

With earbuds jammed in to prevent her own deafening by firearm, it took Rebecca nearly thirty seconds to notice the man waving urgently at her as he approached from her left. Swiftly replacing the safety on her weapons, she set it on a shelf just inside the firing booth, stepping back onto the walkway that ran along behind.

"What is it?" she asked, digging one foam bud from her ear. The muffled staccato of others practicing in the range suddenly became crisp and clear.

"Phone call, sir." The man passed her the body of a telephone, trailed by an extra-long cord, before handing her the receiver. "They said it was urgent."

"Great," she muttered, and then louder, into the receiver. "This is Second Lieutenant Catalina. I'm in the middle of something here, so if you don't mind making it quick?"

" _Are you in the middle of a firefight?_ "

"Riza!" Her heart leapt at the familiar voice, relief rushing through her in a wave. "Oh my gosh, it's you. You're alive! I don't – hang on a second."

Moving to one side, she pulled open the door to an equipment storage room at the rear of the range, and stepped inside, muffling the noise outside once again. "There, now I can actually hear myself think. Are you okay?"

" _Yes. And of course I'm alive; I was off-station, not dead._ "

"'Off-station?'" she echoed incredulously. "You call being turned into a vampire and going rogue being 'off-station?!'"

There was the long hiss of a deep sigh over the phone. " _Becca, please, we can talk about it more when you get here. Right now, I have something far more important to discuss, so if you could stop interrupting for two minutes and –_ "

"What do you mean 'when I get there?' You mean Ishval?"

" _Exactly. Breda and Fuery are coming out from Central to meet with you and Falman. I need the two of you to sign out a truck and stock it for a three day drive to Jadad. Food, blankets, fuel, medical supplies if you think you'll need them, emergency kit, the works. Understood?_ "

Rebecca nodded, creating a mental checklist in her head. The motor pool would have the truck, Supply would have the necessaries to stock it and have a good idea what might be needed by four people for three days, any roadblocks could be cleared up by namedropping Hawkeye, Mustang or probably Grumman himself…. "What about Hayate? Should I bring him along?"

" _Please do. We may have need of his tracking skills._ " She hesitated, but only briefly. " _The killer is here, Rebecca, and we think we may have a shot at taking him down… but we're going to need everybody on this._ "

"Say no more. I read you loud and clear," she answered grimly. "And with the four of us taking turns driving, we can cut our transit time in half. If we leave by ten p.m. tonight, at the latest, we could be there by early morning on the twenty-seventh."

" _Arrange for the three days of supplies just in case,_ " Riza cautioned. " _But that's good. The sooner we end this, the better._ " A muffled background voice said something impossible for Rebecca to make out, and Riza's voice faded into equal obscurity as she turned away from the phone to answer. A second later, she was back. " _One more thing…. Make sure, when you're gathering up those supplies… include some ice cream._ "

"…Got it." She grinned. "I'll even make it your favourite brand. But if Falman and I are going to get it all together by tonight, I'd better go and get started."

" _All right. Best of luck. Drive safely._ "

"Right. See you soon."

Hanging up, Rebecca stood another moment in the equipment shed, replaying the call a few times over. After all the stress and strangeness of this case, the end was finally in sight. She pulled the other protective earbud from its place tucked into her ear canal, shaking her head with a smile.

 _Ice cream._

* * *

INHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL

1117 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

The sun was close to overhead when she made it back to the living quarters assigned to her and Roy by the Reconstruction Authority. Riza was glad of the traditional Ishvalan headscarf and the breeze allowed to play across his skin by the light fabric of the plain brown dress. The _abaya_ had been nice, but when the sun on her during the walk from the uninhabited zone to the little house had left her overheated and feeling weakened – a lingering effect of the vampirism, even in her human persona – she was glad to have this alternative. The headscarf kept the sun off of her face and neck, the air flow kept her cool and helped bolster her against the fatigue, and the entire ensemble helped her to blend into the crowds.

Not that blending in helped her to lose the escort she still thought of as entirely unnecessary. The young warrior Scar had assigned to follow her on her errand walked behind and to one side, his footsteps making little to no noise in the sand. He hadn't said a word but to help direct her to the communications centre, and had been silent since they had walked through the door.

Not that she minded the quiet, but after a few days locked away inside her own head, human contact was a welcome thing. What she wouldn't give to have Roy alone for half an hour and tell him everything…. She could finally accurately describe how it felt to have the vampire persona seize control, what she remembered, where the gaps in her memory were, tell him that she was sorry things had gotten this out of hand, ask him if he was all right….

Her vampire self had wanted nothing but sex and to toy with him. Childish as it was, all Riza wanted from him at this moment was an assurance things would work out, and a hug.

Later, she told herself firmly. Focus on the planning for now, and let yourself worry when you have the time.

Her near-mute bodyguard stationed himself outside the front door of the house as she paused just long enough to unlock it. There was a tremble in her knees that she didn't like, but she willed it not to show in her step.

Strength began seeping back into her muscles the moment she stepped inside, out of the glare of the sunlight. Riza kept her steadying, deep breath surreptitious, taking a moment just for herself, to regain a more normal feeling in her limbs and appreciate the coolness of the entryway shadows.

Roy stuck his head out of the kitchen, smiling when he saw her. "Welcome back. How did it go?"

"Barring any serious setbacks, we could have our reinforcements as early as first light on the twenty-seventh," she told him, reaching up to unwind the headscarf. She settled it across the back of her neck, flipping one end back over the opposite shoulder. "Breda and Fuery will be leaving Central within the hour, if they haven't already, and Rebecca and Falman are readying everything they'll need."

She shot a quick glance at the open archway to the dining area, and lowered her voice. "I added a request when I gave her a list of supplies they'll need. I told her to bring ice cream."

He gazed at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I see…. Well, if you think it'll be useful, I trust your judgement. Though am I right in thinking it's not something you want to share with our hosts?"

"Only if I have to." She slipped her feet out of her sandals, leaving them by the door. "I'm selfish that way."

"Hang on a second." Taking a risk he wouldn't normally indulge in, he leaned forward, hidden by the dividing wall between the entryway and the kitchen. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, careful for it not to make any noise, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You and I need to talk, at some point. Alone." He smiled. "I'm selfish too, that way."

She returned the smile, though her eyes darted toward the kitchen entrance. "Later," she promised. "I want to talk to you, too, but not when the walls have ears. Everything that's happened… I need to get it off my chest." Her smile faded. "I've told you and the others everything that's pertinent to the situation, but there's plenty more that only affects me."

Roy nodded, then stepped back. "I'd like to hear it."

They entered the dining space at the same time, Roy pausing only to pick up the tray of steaming cups he had been assembling at the kitchen counter when Riza arrived.

"Success?" Miles asked, watching Riza settle to a comfortable seat on a cushion at the low table.

"Very much so." She folded her arms on the tabletop, pressing her fingers against the wood so that any residual shaking would not show. "Our reinforcements are on their way." Brown eyes skimmed the pile of books and scrolls in the centre of the table. "What about on your end?"

"We're finding plenty of weaknesses that vampires are supposed to have," Roy put in, setting a cup of tea in front of her, "but not much on how to kill them. Not a sire, at least; most of the lore seems to agree that the way to stop the direct… offspring of a sire vampire is to kill the sire, but there's hardly anything useful on how to do that."

Riza frowned at him. "The way you're talking, sir, it sounds as though there's at least one way you've found. 'Not much' and 'hardly anything' aren't the same as 'nothing at all.'"

"What we've found isn't exactly…. It has a distasteful side to it," Miles said, looking and sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

"Two different books suggested stabbing the vampire through the heart with a wooden stake," Scar said, almost tonelessly. "And then cutting its head off."

Riza fought down the urge to grimace. "Ah. I can see how that doesn't appeal to anyone… but from my own observations, and for what it's worth… I think it would work." She took a sip of tea, feeling the welcome warmth – much nicer than the heat from the sun – all the way down her throat. "I can't explain how I know, I just… know."

Miles was watching her, paying attention but also scrutinizing. "If you don't mind my asking, Lieutenant… this willingness to accept a violent death by stabbing and decapitation. Is it linked to any residual… anger issues?"

"No." Setting her cup back on the table, cradling it in both hands, she turned to look him directly in the eye. "Though if you don't mind my saying so, Major, Kimblee's victims suffered much more violent and unnecessary deaths than stabbing and decapitation." Her expression, set to hard determination, softened somewhat. "But, you are right. If there is an easier way to remove him from the picture, one that will be less scarring for all those involved, I think we should try."

"Incarceration won't be enough this time," Roy murmured, settling into his seat. "He was released by the Homonculi last time; who's to say he won't manage to turn someone to help him escape a second time? Or force his own way out?"

"He is a creation of forbidden alchemy," Scar added. "Not of the kind practiced by normal alchemists, which I accept has its uses. In folklore, the alchemy Kimblee used is more like dark magic."

"He manipulated the unnatural to make himself supernatural," Miles said quietly. Silence fell over the table.

After long moments, Riza finally spoke up, one hand toying with the charm around her neck. "If the protection charm keeps my vampire persona suppressed… but Kimblee no longer has his original persona… what effect might it have on him?"

"Unconsciousness, perhaps," Scar said, his forehead furrowed in a deep frown of thought. "Intense weakness or sudden illness are possible as well. I don't think it would kill him outright."

"It wouldn't have to," Roy said, watching Riza with understanding slowly spreading across his face as he caught on to her idea. "If it can incapacitate him, even for a second, it would give us time to strike. If we play our cards right, we could take out a serial-killing vampire with a pouch of sand, flowers, and silver wire."

Miles was smiling. "Might be harder to corner him like we did the Lieutenant. We might need those reinforcements."

"He's always hungry. We could just shove it down his throat the first time he opens his big mouth." Silence slammed into the room once again, all three men turning to stare at Riza. Immediately, she flushed red, smiling unsteadily. "Sorry… that might have been the anger issues."

"It could be a valid option, if doing so will affect him strongly enough." With that said, Scar got to his feet, taking a last sip from his cup. "For now, I will leave the research to Miles, and go look into accommodations for the rest of your staff, Colonel. After that, I need to rest; last night was long."

Miles was gathering up the scrolls and books. "I'm going to return these to the library, and see if I can't find some more research material. It could be there are other lore sources there that we overlooked that might be more useful." He looked up. "I'll also talk to the Master; with his knowledge of our people's traditions and history, there's a chance he might know something as well."

Roy nodded. "We'll go over the information we already have, see if we can't parse anything else useful out of it." Getting to his feet, he shook hands with both men. "Good luck. Let us know if you find or need anything."

Minutes later, alone at last, Riza was outlining every vampire- related experience in detail.


	27. Spill Your Secrets

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Sorry to have left you hanging without a chapter last week; I was at a convention and so had been in cosplay crunch all week without time to write. I'm at another con next weekend, but I'm hoping to be able to finish a chapter anyway. I guess you'll know if I was successful if Chapter 28 is on time! For now, enjoy._

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-seven - Spill Your Secrets**

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1142 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

She settled into a cross-legged seat at the head of the single-occupant bed, waiting as he sat down at the foot. A ray of light from the window landed on her face, causing a spike in the headache that was putting pressure across her forehead and around her eyes. She shifted, making sure to keep her face neutral as he looked up; he didn't need to worry about her any more than he already was.

Roy smiled encouragingly. "All right. From the beginning?"

"From the beginning." Riza took a deep breath, reaching up to the charm around her neck to reassure herself it was still there. Of course it was, otherwise the vampire persona would be trying to reassert itself right now, instead of lurking – motionless and quietly fuming – someplace in the very darkest recesses of her mind.

Lurking like the memories and knowledge she inexplicably had. Riza didn't know where all the knowledge of vampires and her own abilities had come from, but she knew instinctively that the information was correct. Some sort of primal memory, perhaps, that operated purely on reaction and instinct. Ducklings knew how to swim, foals knew to stand as quickly as possible after birth… perhaps vampires knew their own bodies, abilities and limitations, as intuitively as that.

"You already know it started in the hospital in Central," she said, after a moment to collect her thoughts. "The morning that Mrs. Curtis had to help wake me up was right after he first bit me." She held up two fingers. "And there are two reasons why that happened: first, in his… feeding, he took almost more blood than was safe for me to lose. Second, extreme tiredness is a natural side effect of first being bitten."

"Really?" Roy's eyebrows lifted. "Hang on a second."

Getting up quickly, he disappeared out into the main room, returning a moment later with a pad of note paper and a pen. "If there's anything you tell me that might be useful for either hunting Kimblee down or tracking his movements and activity, I'll make a note," he said, already writing. "Such as, if anyone reports feeling inordinately tired for no discernible reason?"

She nodded. "Good idea. And if reports like that do come in, we'll know who to keep an eye on for changes both before and after we take him down."

"Right." He glanced up, flashing a smile. "Don't let me stop you. Keep going."

She took another moment to reorder her train of thought, then continued. "From the tiredness, which faded within a day or so, there were almost no signs of turning. I noticed, right after, that I was pale, paler than I ought to have been, but I thought that it was likely a side effect of losing so much blood."

Roy was nodding as he wrote. "I thought that, too. As soon as I got my sight back, it was one of the first things I noticed." He looked up. "You've always had a fair complexion – part of the territory, when you're a natural blonde – but now, you're…." He eyed her thoughtfully. "I think the poetic term is 'porcelain.'"

"Small wonder I don't much care for sunlight, then," she answered, smiling at her own small joke. "So that's the tiredness, and the paleness…. I should mention, that once the tiredness began to fade, I started to feel stronger. It seems relatively normal, but… in retrospect, I was feeling much stronger much more quickly than I ought to have."

"How so?"

"Just… stronger. Physically stronger." She shrugged, unable to make it any clearer. "A day and a half after you and Mrs. Curtis had to wake me, I felt completely normal. A few days after that, I felt like I could have checked myself out of the hospital. By the time we left a week later, I was practically itching to run laps around Headquarters, and I thought I could probably bench-press you if you would let me try."

His eyebrows lifted. "I knew you were getting fidgety, but I thought you were just anxious to get home," he commented. "I didn't think it was that bad."

Riza smiled. "I also noticed, from just before we left the hospital, until I turned fully, my pulse and breathing were consistently slow. They would rise after any serious physical exertion, but would drop down again within seconds of stopping. Aside from that, the only other noticeable change was that I would get occasional flashes of irritation or anger over petty, trivial things."

"Things like what?"

Riza flushed, her eyes dropping to where her fingers were laced together in her lap. "Things like… if you were asleep and breathing with your mouth open. If a nurse's shoes squeaked when she walked by in the hall. If someone walking along the sidewalk outside was wearing a brightly coloured shirt." She shrugged. "Things that have never bothered me before, things I've never even noticed." She shook her head. "Once, I was annoyed because you were staring into space thinking about something and you weren't blinking."

"Oh. I can fix that." He fluttered her eyelashes at her, and Riza couldn't help but smile. "There. Why didn't you mention any of this at the time?"

"And say what?" she countered, giving him a dubious look. "'I understand that the nurse has to wear a certain type of shoe for the work she does, but so help me, if I hear those soles squeak one more time, I'm going to surgically remove my eardrums?'"

"It'd save you from having to listen to my mouth-breathing." His smile was brief, to show he was joking, but he sobered quickly. "The anger issues, we knew about. But so we're clear – they start slowly, with just little things? Gradually escalating to full-on rage?"

"More or less." Her earlier flush faded to a pretty blush, high on her cheeks. "It's more accurate to say that the flashes of irritation over little things become less noticeable… because there are suddenly more 'intimate' concerns."

She saw the recognition register in his mind seconds before he nodded in understanding. "So in just under a week, it goes from extreme tiredness, to occasional petty annoyances, to wanting to jump someone as soon as you get half a chance?"

"For what it's worth, I think there has to be genuine attraction to the person, first," she answered dryly. "You'll notice I wasn't trying to seduce anyone else." She frowned, taking a moment to think, before adding, "I think it must be something like… hypnosis. When the turning is beginning, but the vampire persona hasn't fully asserted itself yet. You can't be forced to do anything you wouldn't do yourself." She looked up to find him watching her interestedly. "So, I wasn't inclined to try and seduce anyone else, because that's not something I would do if I were completely myself."

Roy grinned. "Glad to hear it. That also partly answers my next question: how much the vampire persona affects you while you're in the process of turning. Or, actually…." He paused, rephrasing. "Not 'how much,' because the answer is 'gradually more.' What I mean is just 'how?'"

Riza nodded, understanding. "The way I felt it, it started as… as though I were slowly losing my impulse control. I would start to feel annoyed or angry, and I would find it hard to… to clamp down on it, control it, mostly because I didn't want to. There was this feeling, in the back of my mind, that after all I'd been through, I didn't need to keep myself so reserved, I was allowed to be angry if I wanted to be… and it made a certain kind of sense. I didn't want to resist it, so… I didn't.

"The full vampire persona didn't take over – didn't fully split from me and overpower me – until we reached Ishval. I reacted to the blessed sand, and while my mind was still recovering from the shock, she seized her chance and took over." She shifted, discomfort beginning to creep back in. "Up until then, since Kimblee's visit in East City, it was the same as ever – feeling like I didn't have to control every impulse – only it was stronger, then. More… insistent, and more frequent."

Roy had looked up at the mention of the strange reaction, watching her with both sympathy and curiosity. "Going back to the blessed sand…." His eyes dropped to her hands, and the marks that spiderwebbed across her palms. "What can you tell me about the reaction?"

"That it hurt. Worse than anything has ever hurt me." Her eyes grave, she waited until his gaze lifted to meet hers. "It was worse than when I asked you to burn my back."

He grimaced. "It certainly explains why you screamed," he said quietly. "What happened after that? The Master had you hustled off so fast that I didn't even really know where you were, let alone what was going on."

Taking another steadying deep breath, Riza re-laced her fingers together in her lap. "The shock of the pain dazed me, briefly. We were down at ground level and a few blocks away before I realized I wasn't with you anymore. Even then, when I asked where you were, where we were going… they didn't answer." She frowned, trying to remember. "I was still feeling hazy, and they were talking amongst themselves in Ishvalan…. It sounded urgent, but I couldn't understand anything.

"They took me directly to what I later learned was the Reconstruction Authority's outpost office, and to the upstairs room where you came to see me the next morning." She hesitated, then looked up. "All during this time, I didn't realize what was happening to me, mentally speaking. I could feel that… something wasn't right, but I didn't realize what. It was as close to the vampire personality taking over as I could come while still being in control myself."

It was Roy's turn to frown. "She didn't immediately try to force her way into control?"

"Not at first," Riza said. "At first, she was there, just under the surface. Like a person seen behind a frosted-over window; there, but not completely visible. She had to wait to seize her moment… which she did when I finally fell asleep later that night."

She paused a moment, waiting for him to add a comment, but he didn't. Dark eyes watched her calmly, and he nodded encouragingly for her to go on.

"It was like…. Do you ever get that feeling, just as you're falling asleep, that you're falling? From some impossibly high place, when it's dark and silent, and just before you hit the ground… you wake up?" Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "That's what it was like, when she took over. Like I was falling, just… endlessly… and instead of hitting the ground, I wound up stuck inside my own mind."

She saw Roy's shoulders rise in momentary tension; he took a careful breath before asking his question. "And… what was _that_ like?"

The look she gave him was doubtful. "Anything I could tell you about it… all it would be is a metaphor."

"A metaphor is better than nothing."

"Right…." This was an answer to think about. There wasn't much in the physical world that compared to… what could she even call this? 'Self-imprisoned consciousness' was about as close as she could get. Maybe prison was a workable description, prison where the cells have no light… or floor… or walls…. _Wait…._

"Did Edward ever tell you what it was like for him, trapped in the false portal in Gluttony's stomach?"

The question caught him off-guard, judging from his expression. Roy's eyebrows shot upward, his mouth falling open just slightly. He blinked, trying to formulate a response, before managing a curious "…He mentioned the incident, and how he escaped, but not much else aside from that."

"He told me details, the night he came to return the gun I lent him," she explained. "The night I told him about Ishval. According to him, what was inside Gluttony's portal was some kind of… he used the phrase 'pocket dimension?'" Roy nodded to signal understanding, but said nothing. "There were no walls, no ceiling, a knee-high lake of blood, a 'floor' of clotted blood, and no light except for your flames that Gluttony had swallowed.

"Being trapped inside my own mind was like that. As I said, I could see things going on as though through my own eyes, but the perception was skewed." She shook her head. "I wasn't standing on anything; I was free-floating in the middle of nothingness. No normal human needs like food or sleep, either. Just awareness of what was happening outside, powerless to leave unless something broke me out, and powerless to stop her."

A shudder slithered involuntarily down her spine. "The last time I was that powerless… Kimblee was forcing his blood down my throat."

Wordlessly, Roy set the pad aside, moving up beside her. He leaned back against the headboard, drawing her gently to his chest. Riza smiled, nestling her head comfortably into the crook of his shoulder, one arm wrapped across his chest as his curved easily over her back for his hand to rest on her waist. "Let's move on to another aspect," he suggested, once they were settled. "What about day-to-day habits? Or… night-to-night, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's start with sleeping. Does a vampire need as much sleep as a human? More? Less?" He smiled, nudging the top of her head with his nose. "Do they sleep hanging upside down from cave ceilings?"

"If they do, then I was doing it all wrong," she answered, knowing her smile would show in her voice, and that he would be relieved to hear it. "At the abandoned inn by the marketplace, my vampire self made a small bunk from a shelf in a linen closet. Once Kimblee came along, though, they each took actual rooms and took precautions to cover the windows to block out light." She stared up at the ceiling, considering the question further. "I wouldn't actually call what they do 'sleeping,' though."

She knew the moment the words were out of her mouth that Roy's mind had taken them and run in a completely opposite direction from what she intended. She felt the muscles of his chest tighten, heard the faint whisper of a sharp inhale. When he spoke, his voice was too perfectly calm to be genuine,

"…By that, do you mean there 'wasn't much sleeping going on?'"

"To give her some credit, she has standards," Riza answered dryly. "The only reason she would have slept – or not slept, as you said – with him is to make you angry, jealous, or both. Not out of any kind of attraction to him."

"From the way she acted the morning before we caught her," Roy added, his tone curious, "it seems like the… urges were still there, and she wasn't happy about having to take no for an answer."

"Yes, I watched that little episode." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I saw every little motion, everything she did. She couldn't sneeze without my knowledge." She looked up, the grim expression dissolving into a small, teasing smile. "I've never had cause to think you would sleep with someone else, but I never thought the person you would turn down would be my alter ego. You didn't have to, but you proved yourself to be very trustworthy."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He kissed her softly, chastely, on the lips. "But we're getting off-track. About the sleeping habits?"

"Right." She considered a moment, then spoke. "I wouldn't so much call it sleeping, since she was still aware of things happening around her, at least in a general sense. She could tell if it was night or day, based on light sources from outside, and from the passage of time. If someone had entered and spoken to her, she would have heard them, but not been able to make out words. If a mouse ran across the floor, she wouldn't have noticed, unless it touched her."

Chewing thoughtfully at his lower lip, his eyes staring at the opposite wall, Roy ventured a guess. "Sleeping with one eye open, so to speak?"

"Not quite. I'd be more inclined to call it a trance," Riza explained. "A vampire doesn't recover spent energy the way a human does. Where you or Scar or Miles – or me, when she's not in charge – rest up through sleep, a vampire gains energy along with sustenance by feeding. The trance is just a way to rest, to pass the day until sundown. They get some energy back from it, but not a lot."

"That explains the tiredness, once a victim is bitten," he commented. "Aside from the loss of blood, the vampire drains their energy as well."

"Precisely." She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"A few things." His free hand reached out, tapping the pouch that hung around her neck. "There was some concern that this would affect you, as well as her. Are you doing okay?"

Riza hesitated a moment, then lifted one hand, tilting it from side to side. "Yes and no…. I'm fully in control of myself, and that control feels as firm as if she weren't there at all. As long as I'm wearing this, I doubt she'll be able to take over."

"I see." He held quiet for a pair of heartbeats, then added, "And what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing. I've told you everything."

"Everything except that you have one boomer of a headache."

She looked up so quickly, overtaken by surprise, that it sent a wave of pain sweeping through her skull. She ignored it, staring him in the eye. "…How did you…?"

He smiled then, sympathetically. "Your eyes get this kind of glassy look when you're fighting off a headache," he said. "They're not as bright. If it's a small one, I usually don't notice unless you tell me, but when it's worse…." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Then it gets pretty obvious."

"And you were hoping I'd talk about it voluntarily?" she guessed, shifting her head back to her shoulder and letting her eyes fall closed.

"Only so that you know that nothing in this situation is too small to bring to me, if you want to." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "We've got some bigger problems to worry about, true, but that doesn't mean I'm going to disregard the little things. If it concerns you, it's my concern."

"If you don't mind helping, then…." She sat up, turning her back to him, one hand pointing to where her neck joined her shoulders. "I think it's caused by my neck being stiff. Could you —"

His hands settled on her skin before she even finished the sentence, fingers pressing into the taut muscle. His practiced touch found the pair of knots, either side of her spine, within seconds, and he applied pressure. Riza groaned in a strange combination of pain and pleasure, relief beginning to seep in.

"Maybe you ought to have a talk with her about not going crazy with climbing buildings and sleeping on shelves."

A few moments later, she shrugged free of his massaging touch, a signal that he could stop, and she relaxed again against his chest. Pain still throbbed dully, in her temples, now, but not as insistently as before.

"Better?" he asked, the words forming a vibration in his chest as he spoke, that she felt under her shoulders.

"Some." She turned over, folding her arms across his ribs and resting her chin on them. Sunlight from the window glinted off his dark hair, turning his eyes from black to the deepest blue that was only visible in light like this. They smiled at her fondly — no. There was a deeper emotion there, one that had blindsided them both and been the silent third-wheel in every interaction until they had embraced it.

There was love in those eyes, and Riza was almost sorry to close her own as she stretched up to kiss him.

His mouth was warm as her lips touched his, and he was returning the kiss within an instant. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hug they both knew was desperate with his need for reassurance that she was here, she was herself, that Kimblee hadn't managed to take her away completely.

Riza felt her heart give a happy flutter, a thrill flashing through her chest the same way it had when she was a teenager, the same way it had the first time the two of them had stumbled awkwardly into a kiss. But where the first had been unsteady and lasted no more than a few seconds, now they were sure and lingering.

His hand lifted, resting protectively on the back of her head, his forehead pressing against hers. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice sounding strange. When Riza opened her eyes just enough to see him, his were squeezed tightly shut, his brows furrowed in the same desperation that had been in his hug.

 _He's not trying to reassure me,_ she thought to herself, the happy thrill fading to a sympathetic ache. _He's reassuring himself._

"I'm right here," she answered, snugging her arms more closely around his neck. "It's all right. I'm here."

She kissed him again, on the cheek, then leaned back in time to see his eyes open. They fixed on her, solemn and watchful, his fingers toying idly with a lock of her hair… until, at last, he smiled.

The third kiss was hungry, both of them pouring their relief into it, each of them revelling in the smell, the feel, the taste of the other. His hands rested on her upper back, keeping her close; her palms pressed softly against the curve of his jaw, feeling the motion as he pressed his lips fervently to hers, once, twice, three times.

She could feel her heart rate speeding up, could feel the pressing, purposeful heat of her own desire coiling in the pit of her stomach. Riza forced herself to take a deep breath, surreptitiously, of course, so that he wouldn't worry. She couldn't go rushing things, couldn't go too fast. Everything they had been through in the last few days, dashing headlong into this felt as though it were doing both of them a disservice,

Freeing her lips momentarily, she pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "Take your time," she advised gently. "We're not in any rush; we don't know when we're going to get this chance again, so let's do it right."

"Right." He had that slightly punch drunk look he got whenever things started heating up between them. His left hand moved from her back, the backs of his fingers trailing lightly over the curve of her cheekbone, his eyes tracing a path from her eyes, along her nose, to her lips. "Scar and Miles won't be done with their research for a while yet, the others won't be here for close to two days…. It's about as much time as we could ask for, given the circumstances."

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, learning each other again, gauging the other's pace by touch, by body signals, and Riza's sense of time and her surroundings began to fade as she focussed all her attention on him. Not so for him, apparently, since after several minutes, he gently disengaged himself and crossed to the window, tugging the curtain shut to keep out any prying eyes.

"We're at the back of the house, and there's no one occupying the one behind us," he said quietly, slipping back onto the bed, "but I'd just as soon not take any chances."

Riza smiled. "I thought I was supposed to be the security-conscious one?"

"You're busy, right now."

They resumed the pattern of light, comfortable kisses, lying curled closely together in the single-occupancy bed. Riza gave a contented sigh, her fingers trailing the familiar curves and ridges of his arm and chest through the light fabric of the desert tunic. She felt the motion, with her cheek pressed to his, of his smile a moment before there was a soft tap of skin on skin behind her head.

When his fingers brushed the back of her neck a moment later, they left a tingling trail in their wake. Not one of pleasurable touch; this one was different.

One eyebrow lifted quizzically, she shifted to look up at him… and found him smirking mischievously. "…Planning something, are you?" she asked, feigning indifference.

"I had the thought that, since you like alchemy used on you in some places —" His hip pressed against hers in indication. "— then maybe there are other ways to use it you'll like just as much." His smile widened. "Alchemy is supposed to be used for the benefit of the people, after all."

She was still laughing quietly as he traced tingling trails of cold fire down her left arm.

She had no idea what kind of transmutation he had to be holding back for such a light, pleasant tickly feeling, but that didn't concern her. This secret use of such an art forbidden by the Ishvalans, even for such a small thing, spoke volumes to her. He had already shown his willingness to break restrictive rules, just by being with her, but it was a willingness that apparently also extended to an international scale.

Fuelled by that thought, she caught him off-guard when she caught his shoulder and easily rolled him onto his back, following to settle herself astride his hips.

He was still smiling, watching her with a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Not content to just lie back and enjoy yourself?" he asked.

"When am I ever?" she countered.

She bent, abandoning the 'take your time' approach that she herself had suggested in favour of a return to fervour and passion. Roy evidently didn't need much convincing, from the way adapted almost instantly to this new rhythm, and the way his fingers began inching the hem of the desert dress upward.

Riza smiled against his lips. "Not content to just lie back and enjoy yourself?" she quipped, shifting to nuzzle gently against his cheek so that her words wouldn't be muffled.

"When am I ever?"

Laughing softly at the back of her throat, she drew a line of teasing kisses along his jaw and down the side of his neck… and paused. Consciously, she kept the tension she felt from her shoulders, kept her hands from curling into anxious fists in the front of his shirt… but her eyes snapped open, staring blankly straight ahead.

Something was wrong.

He hadn't noticed yet. One hand lifted to tug aside the neckline of the dress, revealing the mostly-healed scar on her shoulder; the only reminder of her brief face-to-face fight with Envy. His lips touched the still-red scar tissue, and she thought she ought to make a joking comment about a 'kiss-it-better'… but the words wouldn't come.

Annoyance at her own inability to use her voice, however temporarily, flashed hot and constricting in her chest. It was her own voice, why shouldn't she be able to use it if she wanted to?

The red anger vanished into a pink flush of desire as she felt the faint nip of his teeth over the wound at the top of her shoulder, the light dig into the muscle as he tugged her slightly closer. Her smile returned, a shiver running the length of her spine. Two could play his little game.

Turning her head, she bit playfully at the exposed column of his neck… and knew in an instant, from three very distinct signs, that things had just gone terribly, utterly wrong.

First, beneath her, his entire body went rigid in surprise, a breath being sucked in through his clenched teeth with a dread-inducing hiss. Before she could ask what was wrong, a taste flooded her mouth and brought with it a horrible realization. Iron and copper mingled on her tongue, and Riza jerked herself away from him, sitting upright. For a long moment, brown eyes stared at black in shared shock and mortification… until he slowly looked down to where a warm trickle came from the corner of her lips.

Thirdly, as Roy stared horrorstruck at the sight of his own blood on her lips… the hunger shifted restlessly in the pit of her stomach and then became still again.


	28. The Last Stage

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm terribly sorry for all the delays lately; getting ready for conventions has had be too busy to write. But con season is done for me until October, so I should be able to get back on a steadier schedule! Thank you all for being patient. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Last Stage**

CITY OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1423 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

For the second time in a week, vehicles bearing the Amestrian military crest entered through the massive arched gate, led by a lone horseman, proceeding cautiously up the avenue. The pair of trucks sent rumbling engine vibrations echoing from building façades, drawing a few stares from pedestrians, but far fewer than their predecessor's arrival.

As before, they drew up in front of the open entrance to the library, all the travellers disembarking as soon as the engines were turned off. None moved faster, however, than the black and white blur that shot from the lead truck, barking happily at the sight of his mistress.

Crouching, Riza allowed Hayate to fling himself bodily into her arms, smiling as he licked frantically at her cheek, whining softly. "I know, boy, I know," she murmured, one hand holding him to her, the other ruffling his ears. "I missed you, too." She glanced up at the others just beginning to approach, and gently nudged Hayate to stay put as she got to her feet.

As the ranking officer present, it was Alex Louis Armstrong who stepped forward, offering her a crisp salute that she returned with perfect precision. "Reinforcements arriving as requested, Lieutenant," he said solemnly, his tall frame blocking out the afternoon sun to cast her in shadow.

"We're grateful you could come, Major," she answered formally. Taking a step to the side, she turned partially to indicate those waiting just behind her. "You already know Major Miles, and you know Scar, of course," she said, conscious that she was omitting that the two had met via a fight in the streets of Central. "The other gentleman is Scar's teacher, and our liaison with the Ishvalan priesthood."

Armstrong bowed deeply, the sun glinting from his shaven, shining scalp. "An honour," he intoned, before straightening, and indicating the rest of his party. "I have with me Second Lieutenants Falman, Breda, and Catalina, specialists in research, strategy, and combat, respectively. I have also brought our communications specialist, Master Sergeant Fuery." He drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "And I am Major Alex Louis Armstrong, of the Central Investigations Office."

The Master stepped forward, answering Armstrong's earlier bow with one of his own. "You are well met, Major," he said in greeting. "We know you have important work to do, so we won't put your group through the formal welcoming. However, if you will consent to it, we will offer a blessing on your work to be done here."

Armstrong seemed slightly taken aback, but only momentarily. "I have no objection," he answered after a moment, and then, in an aside to Riza as the Master turned to an acolyte, he added, "Where is the Colonel?"

"Get through this first, sir, and then I'll take you to him," she answered in a low murmur, before taking several steps to the side. Hayate followed at her heels, loath to part company. From the corner of her eyes, she saw both Rebecca and Breda giving her quizzical looks and she waved their concern away with a single motion of her hand.

The Master stood forward on the library steps, flanked by three acolytes on one side and two on the other. He spoke briefly in Ishvalan, some kind of prayer, by the tone, and then switched to Amestrian. "Our God Ishbala, we ask your blessing, your protection, your guidance, and your strength on those who come to aid your people, on those who have journeyed so far for such a noble purpose. May the work they do be to the benefit of all, and may they go in safety."

As one, the five acolytes stepped forward, each of them placing a protection charm around the neck of a new arrival. Taking a step back, they bowed, then turned and filed into the library, leaving the Master alone on the steps. He smiled. "I'm sure you're all anxious to get settled, so I won't delay you any farther." He nodded to the trucks. "Leave your vehicles here, and my people will see to unloading them. Lieutenant Hawkeye will show you to the quarters we have allotted for you."

He bowed, and disappeared inside, leaving the group of seven Amestrians alone in the plaza among a smattering of Ishvalan pedestrians.

Riza took a moment to survey the array of expressions on the faces before her – ranging from wariness to confusion – and gave a small smile… albeit one that wasn't entirely heartfelt. "If you'll follow me? I have all the information for your lodgings and the Reconstruction Authority offices at the accommodations given to the Colonel and I."

She didn't wait for the reply, merely turning and starting for the pedestrian arch that led north out of the plaza. There was a pause of a few seconds before the others got themselves in gear after her, footsteps shuffling the sand as they moved. One set detached themselves from the group at large, hurrying to catch up, and Riza was not surprised when Rebecca fell in beside her.

"What's going on?" the brunette demanded, ignoring military protocol as she usually did when it came to Riza. "You and Mustang are practically joined at the hip and yet you show up to meet us without him?"

"The Colonel is otherwise occupied at the moment," she answered, knowing the words sounded stiff and forced, but not knowing what else to say. She could hardly explain herself properly when there were civilians around, especially civilians who had no idea what had been happening behind the scenes in the city. "He sent me in his place."

"Occupied how?" Fuery asked curiously from behind her. "Has something happened in the case since we left?"

Riza's reply of "You could say that…." was so quiet that only Rebecca heard, and from the grim look on her friend's face, she instinctively knew better than to ask what she meant.

* * *

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1450 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

Curiosity was the primary expression on each face as the newcomers followed Riza through the door into the small adobe house. Armstrong had to duck substantially to fit his six-foot-nine frame through the entry, and when he stood straight again, his lone blond curl came dangerously close to brushing the ceiling.

"Not bad," Rebecca said, her eyes roaming over the entryway, and the kitchen and dining nook off to one side. "Kind of… homey, for the desert."

"Ours are going to be similar?" Fuery asked, closing the door behind the group as the last one to enter.

"The Reconstruction Authority has given you clearance for two of the houses in the immediate vicinity," Riza explained, pausing to scoop little Hayate into her arms; he settled immediately against her shoulder. "Falman, Fuery, and Breda will have the use of one; Major, you and Rebecca will have the other, unless you have any objections?"

"Not objections so much as questions," Armstrong replied. Standing straight, he fixed her with a firm, disciplinary stare that was not unlike his eldest sister's trademark look. "You still haven't answered the question from earlier, Lieutenant. On where the Colonel is and what exactly has him, as you put it, 'otherwise occupied.'"

"She probably hasn't told you because she's not sure _what_ to tell you," a new voice chimed in, from the direction of the open living room.

Riza breathed a soft sigh, then turned toward Roy's voice, motioning the others to follow. "It happened shortly after I finished issuing the orders for you all to join us here," she said, moving down the short hall from the entryway into the living area, its normally sunlit walls dimmed by curtains drawn across the window. Enough light remained to see clearly, but when the room came into the group's view, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

Roy sat in chair across the room, his posture not quite straight, and almost… listless. Riza felt her stomach shift in nervousness as his eyes, seemingly blacker than usual in his abnormally pale face, lifted from the sheaf of looseleaf notes in his hands. His lopsided grin was still boyish, but lacked convincing strength.

There was a hissing intake of breath from Breda, and then cold silence settled on the room, the new arrivals clustered near the hallway, all five staring in mute shock at the man in the chair. The man, who, quite literally, paled in comparison the Roy Mustang they knew.

After a long, tense moment, Roy sighed and held the papers out to Riza. "The others said they would be back before too long, but they left that for us to look over and bring everyone up to speed," he said, fatigue pervading his voice. "At the very least, it gives us the information we need to formulate a proper plan of attack."

She took the small stack, nodding solemnly. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Especially now that we have the reinforcements we need to carry out any plan successfully."

"Looks like you could use us," Breda observed doubtfully, the first to find his tongue after the initial shock. "No offense, Chief, but you look about ready to drop."

Annoyance flashed across Roy's face, and Riza felt something twitch guiltily in her chest. Another new symptom could only mean progression. Progression meant the Roy she knew was taking another step away from her… and was therefore one step closer to a slip that could plunge him down into a prison of his own mind's making. And who knew what kind of personality would take his place?

Thankfully, whatever instant of anger had shown on his face lasted only that long: an instant. When he spoke, his voice was just as calm as before. "I can handle it," he assured his master strategist. "I'll be fine by tomorrow. I'm already better off than I was yesterday."

Armstrong's brow furrowed more sharply as his concern deepened. "You were _worse_ than this yesterday, sir?" Blue eyes went from Roy, to Riza, and back again. "I suppose we can be thankful for that, but… what exactly _is_ this?"

"Another question, if I may?" Falman half-raised a hand for attention as he spoke, then pointed to his own charm, the others around him, and finally to Riza's. "Why are we all wearing these… but the Colonel isn't?"

Roy looked his First Lieutenant, his smile wry but without much humour. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?" he asked, his voice already weary at the thought of it.

Riza settled to a comfortable seat on a large cushion, motioning the others to do the same. She settled Hayate on her lap, the little dog already starting to blink sleepily after all the excitement. "I can. But you'll all want to sit down; we're going to be here for a while."

* * *

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1242 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

For what felt like an eternity, all the two of them did was stare at each other in blank shock. Slowly, feeling like he was in a dream, Roy lifted one hand to the slowly fading sting on the side of his neck, feeling dread begin to pool in his chest as his fingers touched something warm, damp, and sticky.

He knew, even before he pulled his hand back to study his red-stained fingertips, that it was blood.

No sooner had his gaze settled, wide-eyed, on his fingers, than Riza scrambled from her spot on the bed and bolted out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. Still feeling a sense of disconnect, Roy didn't move, didn't react as he heard the water run, heard her rinse and spit.

 _She… bit me. Okay. Don't panic yet,_ he told himself. Forcing the worry and dread back, he got to his feet and followed her, only to find her with her hands braced on the bathroom counter, her head bowed as she stood over the sink. _Strange,_ he thought, the words coming to him as though from a great distance, _this is the second time in less than two weeks I've followed her as she bolted into a bathroom to spit out blood._

She didn't register his presence behind her, evidenced by the way she jumped at the sound of a short length of toilet paper being torn from the roll. She whirled, and Roy put his hand up. "It's just me."

His voice sounded flat and mechanical, even to him, and it certainly didn't do much to dispel her worrying. Brown eyes darted to the side of his neck… and she was abruptly herself again. Riza took a sharp breath in through her nose, letting it out in a businesslike huff as she squared her shoulders.

"Let me see," she said quietly, moving aside to let him lean back against the counter. She took the folded piece of tissue Roy passed to her, then stepped close, reaching up to dab away the blood.

"If it's any consolation, it doesn't hurt," he said, staring at the way her hair fell smoothly behind her shoulders. It had been tickling his nose mere moments before she bit, he had felt it brush over his forehead, over his chest as she ducked her head to sink those pointed teeth into his exposed neck –

"Maybe not," she pointed put, her tone dark and guilty, "but I'd say we have a bigger problem on our hands."

"Didn't your father always say I'd get you into trouble one day?" He grinned unsteadily as she looked up, her eyes blank with surprise that he would or could make a joke at a time like this.

"Roy, I'm the one who's just gotten _you_ into trouble," she pointed out. Her eyes strayed to the marks on his neck, staring at them in muted horror. "I don't… I didn't mean to–"

"Sshhh, I know you didn't," he soothed, taking the tissue from her hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. "Maybe after an extended period with the vampire persona in charge, it was reflex?" He tugged gently on the pouch around her neck. "With this on, it should block most vampire effects, shouldn't it?"

"Most, yes," she agreed, then shook her head. "But not the weakness in sunlight, not the paleness of the skin… and maybe not the transmission of vampirism through a bite." She looked up, the guilt heavy in her eyes. "I suppose we won't know for sure, until…."

"Until the symptoms either show up or don't." His lips pressed into a grim line. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. It shouldn't take long; Kimblee bit you in the middle of the night and you were deep into the fatigue the next morning. If there's anything working at infecting me, I'd say we'll know by dinnertime."

She regarded him a moment, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right… and it's not as though we don't know how to fix it, if you are infected. Once the vampire that turned a victim is taken out, then –"

His eyes widened at her implication, and his hands went automatically to her shoulders. "Why would you say something like that?! Riza, I'd sooner live ten lifetimes as a vampire than have you sacrifice yourself like that so I could live a normal life!" He faltered a moment, slightly confused by the way she was staring at him in surprise. How could she think that he wouldn't fight to keep her safe, even from herself?

"I…." He hesitated, then started again. "After the last six months, after I only just got you back from being under Bradley's thumb…. I don't want to give you up again. Not even for something as serious as this."

She was smiling by the time he finished his explanation. "You think I would voluntarily leave you after those six months?" she asked, her hands lifting to gently slip his from her shoulders. "Don't forget that I only just got you back, as well. No, what I meant was that to cure you, the vampirism on me has to be lifted. To do that, we have to destroy Kimblee. Destroying him destroys my vampire self, which is responsible for turning you. Does that make sense?"

"A chain reaction." Relief flooded his chest, and he grinned awkwardly. "Sorry, I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"That's all right." She eyed him again, this time with a measure of satisfaction. "You know, you're taking this very well, for a man who might start transforming into a blood-hungry supernatural creature in the next few hours."

His grin was unsteady, but genuine. "Well, I'm much less calm on the inside." He shook his head. "What are we going to tell Scar and Miles, not to mention the others?"

* * *

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1525 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"The symptoms started later that night, around nine," Riza said, wrapping up the story. "We suspect it took longer than we thought because my full vampire persona hadn't emerged when he was bitten. The bite still had the ultimate effect of infecting him, but it was a small amount and thus worked more slowly."

Roy had not moved from his chair; if anything, he seemed to have sunk farther into it. "About nine that night, I fell asleep on the couch, and I don't remember waking up until noon the next day." He looked to his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye tells me she got Scar and Miles to drag me to bed, which I might have paid money to see." He lifted his left foot and let it drop back to the ground. "At least now I can do that without having to take a nap afterward."

"The first symptom is extreme tiredness," Riza explained. "While the vampirism leaches your body's energy to feed itself. After that, as you may have noticed, is annoyance and flashes of anger, which he's just started to exhibit."

"You don't have to treat me like a museum display," Roy muttered, half under his breath, as though in demonstration. Riza shot him a sidelong look, which he caught, and he immediately dropped his gaze. "…Sorry."

"You always did wear strong emotions on your sleeve, Chief," Breda said, forcing his tone to sound light. "But how did you come to be bitten in the first place?"

Riza had her answer ready, and delivered the reply calmly. "I had dropped a glass and broken it, so the Colonel offered to fix it with alchemy. Secretly, of course, since the Ishvalans don't approve of the practice," she lied. "I must have stood too close when the transmutation activated; and for whatever reason, the proximity to the energy transfer caused the vampire persona to show through, not much, but enough. Just long enough for me to bite him."

Rebecca frowned. "I thought you said your vampire side was suppressed?"

"It was. It is." The blonde Lieutenant's lipped thinned in self-recrimination. She reached up, touching the cloth pouch that hung around her neck. "Falman, you asked about these. All of you were given these when you arrived and told they were a token of blessing. They're actually an Ishvalan religious charm we've developed as protection against vampirism."

"Ohhh, I get it." Fuery's eyes lit with understanding behind his glasses. "They protect us by being repellent to vampires, and they keep your vampire side suppressed the same way."

"Exactly." Riza glanced to where Roy watched her, his eyes seeming to grow darker in the shadows of the room. "You also noticed that the Colonel isn't wearing one. We don't know what would happen if a fledgling vampire were forced to wear a charm; it could be the new persona wouldn't be strong enough to withstand the suppression, and if it were harmed or destroyed at such an early stage, it might take the host with it."

"I see…" Armstrong rumbled. "His vampire self is being allowed to develop so that it can later be suppressed with a charm at a lower risk to his body. Risky, admittedly, but the smart move to make."

"A smarter move is letting you all know what we're up against." Roy's gaze shifted from person to person, watching for reactions. "You all know that the serial killer from Central and East City is a vampire. That's been made abundantly clear. But what you may not be aware if is that this vampire is a blast from the past. Five pasts in particular: Scar's, Miles', Armstrong's, Hawkeye's, and mine."

"As for the rest of you," Riza said calmly, tightly gripping one hand with the other out of sight behind her back, "you all at least know the name Solf J. Kimblee."

There were more than a few soft gasps and suddenly clenched jaws in the room. Armstrong immediately stiffened, standing taller and coming perilously close to cracking his head off of the ceiling. Fuery gulped audibly.

"I thought… he was dead?" Falman asked, sounding uncertain, as though his own flawless memory might be playing tricks on him.

"So did we. He was eaten by Pride after failing to stop Alphonse on the Promised Day and being left mortally wounded," Riza explained. "However, vampires have a tendency to be classed as undead, which is what he became after Pride was destroyed. There's some very complex, very dark alchemy involved that I don't fully understand, but suffice to say that this vampire version of Kimblee is made up of what's left of Gluttony's hunger, Pride's arrogance and hatred for humans, and Kimblee's own psychotic personality."

"Great," Rebecca muttered. "So it's not just a vampire serial killer, it's a _psychopathic_ vampire serial killer. I think I'd rather have Homonculi and those creepy, soulless white creatures you guys talked about."

"All of this begs the question," Falman interjected, "of just what we're planning to do about the vampire problem. How do we stop him?"

"The consensus so far is that we'll have to kill him," Roy answered, his tone heavy with weariness. "There's exactly one way to keep him confined, but it amounts to putting him back in prison. A very arcane and unconventional sort of prison, but prison nonetheless. And simply locking him away doesn't fix the problem that Hawkeye and I would both still be vampires."

Fuery spoke up, sounding slightly unsure, but gathering confidence. "From everything I've read… if you kill the vampire 'sire,' the one who turned a victim first, then you remove the vampiric curse – I guess it's a curse? That's what all the books called it. – on the people he turned, and once they're no longer vampires, the people they turned change back, and so on. It's a kind of cascade failure."

"Our thoughts exactly," Roy said, with an approving nod.

"How do you kill something like him?" Breda asked, the introspective look in his eyes suggesting he was already trying to think of a solution. "Vampires are supposed to be immortal, aren't they?"

"Not this kind," Riza assured him. "They're certainly extremely resilient, and I wouldn't trust them to fall immediately from a gunshot or explosion… but the damage from such a wound would kill them eventually."

"The trouble is that they could still cause quite a bit of damage even while mortally wounded," Armstrong added, and Riza nodded in affirmation. "So whatever method we use to bring him down will have to ensure he falls immediately."

"I don't know about you," Rebecca said, her nose wrinkling in distaste, "but I can only think of one way to do that."

"We've had a few days to talk it over, when I wasn't nearly passing out," Roy said. His dark eyes glittered at the thought of what needed to be done, and while Riza didn't entirely like it, she knew it was the vampire persona reacting, not his own mind. His voice was strong in the quiet room when he spoke again. "Like you said, there's not really much other choice.

We've got to take his damn head off."

* * *

RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBOURHOOD, JADAD, ISHVAL

1607 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"It took you a little longer than we thought to reach the city," Riza commented, walking with Rebecca along the short, sandswept street to one of the houses allotted for the reinforcements' use. "What held you up?"

"One of the trucks got a flat about a day out from East City," the brunette answered. Her eyes roved constantly around the street, taking in the architecture, the people, and occasionally her friend. "We paused long enough for Armstrong to repair it with alchemy, but getting those things on and off the axles takes time. Aside from that, the only stops we made were for bathroom breaks, meals, or refuelling."

"I see." Riza gave her a sidelong glance, keeping her voice quiet. "And were you able to bring the special request I asked about?"

"Of course." Rebecca grinned. "It's all in a crate at the very back of the truck, away from any prying eyes. I labelled it as spare truck parts, so as not to raise suspicion, and so that whoever unpacked it on this end would leave it where it was."

"Well done." She smiled, a real, genuine smile she hadn't felt up to giving for a day or so. "I knew I could count on you."

"Who else?" Linking her arm through Riza's, she tugged on the sleeve of the brown, homespun dress. "Now, when are you going to hook us up with clothes like this? Armstrong stands out enough already, and even though we're all in civilian clothes, the rest of us could stand to draw a bit less attention."

Riza eyed her friend's dark brown curls with doubt. "I don't know how well your hair is going to fit under a headscarf, but there should already be Ishvalan clothes in your rooms in the guest accommodations. The waist sash can be a bit of a trick to tie, since the tie doesn't show, but I think you'll get the hang of it."

They continued with their small talk until they reached the house, similar in construct and layout to Roy's and Riza's. Opening the door and stepping inside, the two women found Armstrong already there, unpacking in a room clearly meant for him, due to the larger than average bed.

He emerged, having to duck the low doorjamb, his blue eyes watching Riza with concern. "Lieutenant, would you happen to have a moment?"

"For you, Major? As many as you need." She looked to Rebecca, lowering the hooded portion of her headscarf to lie around her shoulders. "I'll catch up to you in a bit."

"Fine, but don't blame me if I end up wearing these clothes inside out and backwards." Flashing a grin to show she was kidding, Rebecca headed off toward the house's other bedroom to explore the new surroundings.

Riza followed Armstrong back inside his room, waiting by the window as he closed the door behind them. When he turned to face her, his face was lined with the kind of worry only a man with four sisters could exhibit. "You seem to be much recovered from… your time away from the Colonel," he commented.

"You can say I went rogue, sir," she answered, her smile small and rueful. "It's essentially what I did, even though I wasn't exactly in my right mind."

"You weren't," he agreed. "And that's partly why I wanted speak with you. I know from my own breakdown during the civil war that being out of your right mind can have a strong effect on a person." He looked at her directly. "You _seem_ much recovered. Are you?"

This time, her smile was reassuring. "Yes, sir. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I essentially have a split personality, but knowing that it's suppressed helps." She sobered, watching him with the same scrutiny he was directing her way. "But I'm guessing you're also concerned about how I'm handling the Colonel's situation?"

He smiled. "Astute, as always."

"I'm handling it guiltily," she admitted. "Given that I'm the reason he's becoming what he is. But I'm handling it all the same." She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "At the very least, I know what to watch for, to know when he's growing strong enough to withstand the suppression of the protection charm. Getting it on him may present a challenge come time to do so, but I'm confident we can handle it."

He was watching her with curiosity now, moving to sit on the side of bed. "And just what are you watching for?"

Riza took a deep breath, ordering the symptoms in her mind. "An uptick in anger or aggression, an increase in physical strength, insomnia, lowered pulse and breathing rate, drop in body temperature…." She hesitated briefly, then added, "I'm not sure we'll actually notice this one, but from my own experience, an increase in libido goes with it all."

Those same blue eyes widened briefly, blinked once, and then returned to normal as he accepted what she had said and let it slide past. "I see. Well, since you've told me, I can help keep an eye on him as well. And I suppose Scar and Miles know what to watch for?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we're well on our way to being fully prepared." He stood, offering a hand to her. "We're all behind you. You know that."

Reaching out, allowing her hand to be engulfed in his much larger one, Riza nodded. "Yes, sir. And I think I speak for both the Colonel and myself when I say that we fully appreciate it, and that we're extremely glad to have all of you here."

Armstrong didn't have a chance to reply as there was the briefest of knocks on the door, and then Rebecca breezed inside. She had on one of the homespun dresses, minus the waist sash, and had successfully mimicked the sweep of the headscarf as she had seen on Riza. However, as predicted, the sheer volume of her hair was causing the lightweight fabric to billow outward instead of falling neatly.

"All right, Major, you've had your turn, and now it's mine again," she said. "I need my friend to come braid my hair so that I don't look like I'm trying to smuggle pillows with my head."

Riza smiled, clamping down on a laugh, as she looked resignedly to Armstrong. "Sorry, sir. Duty calls."


	29. Sin and Strategy

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm sorry that the gaps in between updates are slipping; things have heated up with summer, both socially and in terms of weather! Between trying to hide from the heat, building my artwork catalog for an upcoming convention, and working on other personal projects and taking time off to relax, writing has to be penciled in wherever I can find room. But I'm still working away on it, and this story is nearing its climax. Hopefully the tasty little bit of sin included this week makes up for the wait. Enjoy!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-nine - Sin and Strategy**

CITY STREETS, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0927 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

The morning sun was already heating the sand as the two men made their way through the wakening city toward the residential district and their Amestrian guests. Scar moved confidently, clearing a path through the pedestrians as Miles followed close on his heels, glancing up occasionally from the report in his hands to keep his bearings.

"A baker on the north end of the city sent word that he spotted someone on the roof of his neighbour's house when he rose early to get get ready for work," he read aloud. "He reported it to a guard, who checked with the neighbours, but found no one that seemed like they might be suffering from a vampire bite. All were wearing protection charms all night."

"Good." The possibility remained, of course, that it was a simple burglary with the thief spotted halfway through the act, but Scar decided that was the lesser of two possible evils and put it aside. Common, small-time criminals could wait until after the more dangerous threat had been removed.

"All other remarks from the night guards are either irrelevant, or noting people out and about for legitimate reasons," Miles continued, flipping to the second page of the report. "Fetching a healer for a sick child, a midwife in another case, and, lastly, a young lover sneaking home after a visit to his sweetheart."

"At least this creature can't change its face, like the Homonculus Envy," Scar mused aloud. "Things are much easier when we know we're looking for an evident Amestrian, instead of one that can blend in with our own people."

"Yes, this one is somehow much more human than anything we faced during or leading up to the Promised Day," Miles agreed, giving the report one last perfunctory scan before turning his full attention to the street ahead. "Perhaps because it resembles the human it used to be."

"Kimblee was barely human," Scar said, his tone dropping in pitch, red eyes turning hard in the bright light. "No human can inflict the damage he did without a shred of remorse."

The remainder of the walk to the guest house was punctuated by a terse silence; accustomed as he was to Major General Armstrong's tendency toward the same, Miles was not unduly bothered by it. His mind turned toward the new developments in the case, namely, Mustang's recent conversion to fledgling vampire and the symptoms he had been experiencing. Miles was keeping careful track of any changes as reported by either Hawkeye or Mustang himself, measuring it against Hawkeye's own experience with her turning. He tried very hard to keep from thinking of it as studying a wild animal in captivity… but every so often, the comparison slithered its way into his mind.

The house, when they arrived, was already alive with talking, tea-sipping people. Fuery and Falman were seated at the low dining table, papers, books, and scrolls spread out before them as they pored over the vampire research Miles had accumulated. Armstrong, Hawkeye, and Rebecca were standing in the kitchen, the women holding their cups of tea as they spoke. Armstrong likely would have had one, would it not have been ridiculously tiny in his spade-like hands. Miles stepped in to the kitchen just long enough to leave the paper bag he carried on the counter, before following Scar down the short hallway to the living room.

Mustang and Breda sat on either side of a map of the city, talking quietly as they compared marked buildings to corresponding lists. Sitting straight, Mustang blew out an exasperated breath, running a hand back through his hair… and caught sight of the two newcomers. "Ah; good morning."

The way he practically jumped to his feet wasn't necessary for them to tell he was past the initial stages of turning. The fatigue was gone, and would have been replaced by, according to their information, a feeling of renewed and growing strength. This, too, was evidenced by Mustang's grip as he reached out, shaking Miles' hand. Scar didn't shake.

"Glad you could make it." Mustang's eyes darted to the pouch around Miles' neck as he spoke, and then flitted back to his face just as quickly. "Now that I'm not falling asleep every half-hour, we've got a lot of work to do."

"Of course," Miles answered, trying not to note how cold the other man's fingers were, or the fact that the curtains remained drawn across the window at the far end of the room. In the dim light, Mustang's paler than usual skin stood out like a faint beacon. "We're glad to find you looking so much better. And with such a positive attitude."

The Colonel grinned. "I feel the same way. And the way I see, the stronger the vampirism gets, the stronger I am to stand up to Kimblee." He shrugged expressively. "What's the worst that he could do? Bite me?"

"He could tear you limb from limb," Scar pointed out grimly. "Unless your vampire personality fully emerges, you'll still only have your normal strength. You won't be able to face him in a fair fight as your human self, vampire tendencies or not."

"He's right, sir." Coming through from the kitchen into the living room, Hawkeye was just in time to catch Scar's comment. Both Ishvalan men turned to look back as she spoke, catching the firm look she was levelling in her superior's direction. "We've already talked about this. There's going to have to be more to our plans than brute force."

She stopped as she reached them, holding out a fresh cup of tea to Mustang, though her eyes turned to Scar. "Sorry; the Colonel's having some trouble handling the latest stages of turning." Her expression was that of a mildly exasperated babysitter, which explained the comment Miles had made once about how their relationship functioned. "Namely, flashes of annoyance and irritation, and increased strength leading to feelings of invincibility."

Mustang had the good grace to look slightly sheepish as he accepted the cup. "Weird supernatural forces overthrowing your brain will do that to you," he commented, though quietly.

One by one, the others drifted into the living room, Falman and Fuery bringing the notes they had taken from the pile of research, and Armstrong carrying a plate piled with the flat oatcakes spread with honey that Scar and Miles had brought in the paper bag. They settled onto the couch and broad cushions in a loosely defined circle, the low coffee table in the centre.

The war council was, at last, assembled.

* * *

Roy had the strong suspicion that, if the creeping vampirism hadn't started slowing his heart rate, his pulse would have been skyrocketing. He wouldn't classify himself as nervous about going after Kimblee, but there was a certain… anticipation. He wanted to go, wanted to hunt down the bastard that had made Riza into the sort of strange creature he was fast becoming, wanted to give him the solid sock in the jaw he had held back from during the war….

But Riza was right, he reminded himself firmly. He was strong again, yes, and growing stronger… but against a full-fledged vampire like Kimblee, his chances were laughable at best and abysmal at worst. He would only end up getting himself, her, or one of their cohorts injured or worse. Much as he hated it, he would have to slow down, take this one step at a time. And the first step came now.

He got to his feet, the room quieting around him as he did so. "The guests are all here, so I suppose it's time to start the party," he said, his smile grim. "First of all, I want to thank all of you for coming together on this. Between travel time and time spent away from any other duties you have, everyone has made sacrifices to be a part of this, and I want you to know it's appreciated."

Halfway around the circle, seated next to Riza, Rebecca rolled her eyes and spoke around a mouthful of honeyed oatcake. "Please, after the trouble we went through to take down that Father guy and the corrupt military in Central, this is a walk in the park." She hesitated, considering the metaphor. "After midnight…. With a vampire on the loose."

"A dangerous walk," Falman observed.

"At least this one doesn't have god-like powers or fifty million souls giving him strength," Breda added. "He has weaknesses; highly exploitable ones, at that."

Armstrong half-raised a hand, glancing around the group before settling on Fuery. "Would someone mind going over these weaknesses, so that we're all on the same page?"

The group, as one, glanced in Riza's direction, but she nodded toward Fuery. "You've got the list, Master Sergeant."

"Oh. Right." The young man shuffled through his papers quickly, before pulling one from the sheaf. "Well… vulnerability to sunlight is the first one. From our understanding, depending on the time of day and the amount of light they're exposed to, the effect of it can be varied. The vampire could feel tired, or the light could completely drain them of any strength or energy, leaving them barely able to move."

Breda raised a hand. "Does it have to be sunlight? What if we hit him with a strong flashlight beam, or torchlight?"

This time, Riza fielded the question. "Sunlight is the most preferable, but firelight does work, just to a much lesser extent. There has to be some kind of energy output by the light: heat, or UV radiation."

Seeing that things had swung into his wheelhouse, Roy chimed in. "Simple fire doesn't give off UV radiation," he said, expanding on Riza's answer. "The heat from fire is a deterrent, but it won't weaken the vampire significantly enough for him to be vulnerable. But if you caught him outside at high noon with no shade? He'd be hard-pressed to raise a fist, let alone throw a punch."

Fuery still had his eyes in his notes. "There's also the reaction to the protection charms," he added. "They're a combination of Ishvalan religious icons, and old lore on the repulsion of vampires." He took another paper from his collection and read, "'There is a noted aversion of vampires to the flowers of the garlic plant, as it is a kind of natural antibiotic that would affect the blood a vampire drinks.'"

He looked up briefly. "The garlic flowers in the charms don't have the kind of smell that garlic cloves have, but it's our assumption that the vampire senses the flower's presence, and, knowing about the antibiotic angle, avoids it. If you really want to protect yourself from a vampire, well…." He smiled. "I don't know about you, but I'd take having bad breath over being a midnight snack."

"What about the religious aspect of the charms?" Armstrong asked. "How does that tie in?"

Scar took over. "Inside the charms is a small amount of sand that has been consecrated by a priest, as well as silver wire in the shape of a rune of protection. The sand carries the blessing of Ishbala, and the rune asks his blessing on the wearer.

"Religious iconography and items have a negative reaction on vampires because they have either no soul, as we suspect the case with Kimblee is, or the soul has been corrupted by vampirism, as it is with the Lieutenant, and now the Colonel." He indicated Riza's hands, folded together in her lap. "The Lieutenant bears the marks of what happens when a corrupted soul comes in direct contact with blessed sand."

The latest arrivals in Ishval all took sharply inhaled breaths as Riza held her palms out for them to see. The spiderwebbed marks on the skin were fainter now, more like a deep tan, but still visible and showing no sign of fading further. Across the circle, Rebecca shook her head. "I'd noticed the marks, but with everything else going on, I forgot to ask…. How did that happen?"

"The welcoming ceremony was shortened for you, and the Master told you that you wouldn't need to be blessed the same way the Colonel and I were required to be," Riza explained, refolding her hands to hide the marks. "As soon as the priest poured blessed sand into my hands, they started burning like fire, and I nearly passed out from the shock of it." She paused, but no one spoke; most of them were staring at her in surprise. "Incidentally, that's what opened the mental door for the vampire personality to start coming through, although she didn't emerge fully until shortly after."

"That actually might lead us into the next point," Falman interjected, looking at his own notes; Fuery was still staring at Riza. "There's mention of here of circles and something called a _yantir_ that Miles told us was tried on you?"

"The _yantir_ didn't work," Roy corrected. "It's the Ishvalan version of an exorcism. Our first impression of something being wrong with the Lieutenant was demon possession, but that was quickly proven wrong. Exorcisms certainly aren't vampire-friendly, but all they do are cause pain; they don't expel the vampire personality from the body."

Breda's brow furrowed, a thought clearly occurring to him. "How does a _yantir_ work? What's the process?"

"A containment circle is drawn around the subject by a priest," Miles replied. "Prayers are offered, incantations said, and then the priest activates the circle. The holy symbols keep the subject from leaving, and work to draw the invading spirit out of the subject's soul. Since the vampirism is tied in to Lieutenant Hawkeye so intricately, it didn't work except to cause physical pain."

"So what if we were to try it on Kimblee?"

Miles turned to Scar, who was evidently already thinking it over. "I have the knowledge to draw the circle and start the _yantir_ process," he said, after a moment. "However, by what Kimblee has told us, he has no soul for the vampirism to latch on to. He himself is the vampire; he doesn't have the same dual personalities as the Colonel and Lieutenant."

"Meaning it could either destroy him completely, or not effect him in the slightest," Miles finished. "We developed a slightly different kind of containment circle that is capable of keeping him out of or in a specific area, but we don't know what would happen if we activated a _yantir_."

"And we won't know for sure unless we try," Roy added. "Let's table it as a possibility, at least as a way to cause a temporary vulnerability. I want to go back to the protection charms to point something out." He reached over, tugging the cord of the charm around Riza's neck. "We told you yesterday that these both prevent a vampire from getting close to you, and that they suppress a vampire personality almost completely, aside from a few side effects."

Armstrong was quick on the proverbial draw. "Meaning that if we could put one on Kimblee, it might incapacitate him entirely."

"Exactly." Roy gave Riza a sidelong glance, found her looking back at him. "To get one on Lieutenant Hawkeye's alter ego, we first had to corner her in a containment circle, and even then, she nearly took my head off when I went to put it on. When we say these repel vampires, what we mean is that getting too close makes them physically sick. Getting too close with a charm is like going up to a wolf with a collar and a leash. If the wolf feels threatened, it lashes out."

"That sounds like the start of a plan to me," Rebecca said. "At least the part about a containment circle. If we can trap him in one of those, we can take him out at our leisure, in whatever method is going to be the simplest and fastest." She looked once around the circle as she made her point, then back to Roy and Riza. "Any other weaknesses that could work against him?"

"One that I can think of," Roy commented, his eyes sliding sidelong toward Riza again. "He seems to have a soft spot for Hawkeye, having been the one to turn her. He doesn't trust her, exactly, since she's made it clear what she – and her vampire self – think of him. But he's at least willing to let her get close, which is more than he'd be willing to do if it were me."

"His reason for turning me was to take revenge on the Colonel for opposing the civil war, and for fighting against the Homonculi on the Promised Day," Riza explained. "Although I don't know that he expected I would end up turning the Colonel." She shot her superior a somewhat guilty look. "I think it was his hope that my vampire personality would kill him outright. Failing that, Kimblee would do the job himself."

"Which puts me at something of an advantage," Roy directed his comments to the room at large, but held Riza's gaze with his own. "He may know by now that I've started turning, but it might throw a wrench into whatever plan he's concocted." He looked up, eyes travelling around the circle. "Which means, if we're going to act, we'd best act fast, before he comes up with a new plan."

"The containment circle seems like our best bet," Breda said, spreading the map of the city on the coffee table. "The Colonel and I were discussing the possibility of cornering Kimblee somewhere out here –" He pointed to the southwest corner of the map, deep into the uninhabited zone. "– away from any possibility of running into civilians."

Scar had leaned forward, studying the area Breda had indicated… and went very still, his eyes set on a particular spot. "…Master Sergeant, do you have the list of habitable buildings?"

Fuery rummaged a moment, then held it out. Scar checked the number in the building he had been staring at, then sorted quickly through the list until he found it. "This would seem to be promising," he said, holding the list out to Roy. "Number one thousand two hundred sixty."

Armstrong's eyebrows shot upward. "You have that many restoration projects already?"

"It's a big city."

Roy showed the page to Riza. "You're more of an expert on vampires than I am. What do you think; could it work?"

She frowned, studying the building's description… and her eyes lit with understanding. "If we're pulling out all the stops to incapacitate him, I can't think of any place that would be better, aside from a volcano." She looked up to where Scar sat, watching them. "Does this place have anything else going for it that we can use against him?"

The smile that spread across the stoic man's face was a mixture of triumph, determination, and dark satisfaction. "Do you remember the dome on top of the library?"

* * *

UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL  
1114 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

If he were a being that still needed true sleep in order to rest, he would likely be very close to death right now. Kimblee hadn't entered the trance-like "sleep" state since the night Hawkeye had been recaptured and had the vampirism he had worked so hard to cultivate suppressed. During daylight hours, he moved restlessly from place to place in the vacant house, careful to avoid stepping into the beams of light leaking around the sheets of plywood nailed over gaping windows.

At night, he hunted, though it was becoming more difficult. More and more people were wearing those ridiculous little cloth pouches that stank like cesspits in summer, eliminating his ability to get close. Only those who didn't appear to get out much – the elderly, the infirm – seemed to have a lack of the things, and the feeding there wasn't much.

Much as it galled him to admit it, Hawkeye had been right about being cautious not to create new vampires, or leave bodies lying about to raise alarms about a serial killer on the loose. Just as always, the woman was making things difficult for him.

He threw a baleful glance at the thin beam of sunlight pouring through a small hole in the plywood over the nearest window, snarled, and turned to prowl away into the next room. This day was interminable. Maybe he should try to sleep… but he knew that the problem he had been turning over in his brain for three days would not allow him to rest.

He needed a way to bring her back in, needed a way to get that blasted pouch off of her neck and release the inner beast, so to speak. The thing was like a ball and chain she was forced to drag around; she was a free creature and she should be out on her own, not pinioned behind a wall of well-meaning but ultimately useless so-called 'friends.'

The day after her capture, for a brief moment, he had thought he felt her presence – dimmed by the suppression of what he had wrought in her – brighten and grow. But there had been a brief flash of fear and sudden anxiety… and it was dull and inexpressive once again. Since then, a second presence had been growing, though he could not tell the source.

 _No matter. Like as not, I simply wasn't careful enough during one feeding._ An elderly victim as a new vampire wouldn't serve his purpose, however. There was no revenge to be had in robbing the grave of one who would soon be in it, and no pleasure either. As soon as he sorted out what to do with Hawkeye, to get her back, he would dispose of this other fledgling.

 _Yes, certainly no pleasure in a new vampire, especially not if it's some decrepit old crone._ A thin, dangerous smile spread across his lips, warmth seeping insidiously into his groin. _But once she's back, once she has returned to me…. We will hunt together, we'll share the spoils…. We'll return to the lair, go to ground and then…. Oh, then there will be pleasure._

Mustang hadn't been nearly affected enough by Hawkeye's turning. Upset, yes, anguished and left sleepless…. But Kimblee had been aiming for something more along the lines of 'devastated.' Devastated meant there was no coming back, no recovery, no kiss and make up….

It was disappointing, really.

But the main hurdle was getting Hawkeye back to the perfection he had engendered in her. That pouch was the answer, but how to get it off when he couldn't get within three feet of the thing without retching like his organs were trying to flee his body? With her original personality in control, she wouldn't take it off voluntarily. He would need to use trickery, or some kind of sleight of hand, or –

He paused, his arms folded as he stared at the house's heavy door, the only wooden panel on the exterior that didn't leak hateful sunlight. The idea that had struck him was simplicity itself, so much so that it was nearly slapstick. Fangs bared in a humoured grin, he laughed deep in his throat, thinking of just how surprised Riza Hawkeye would be when she next saw his face.

* * *

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL  
2047 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

Riza sank gratefully onto the couch, her eyes falling closed, revelling in the pleasant fatigue in her muscles of a day well-spent in total productivity. The planning for Kimblee's takedown had gone on until mid-afternoon, with only a short break for a light lunch. It had been determined that they would lay their trap the next day, and after that, the war council had devolved into a group of friends and colleagues, sitting comfortably and catching up.

Scar had left shortly before dinnertime, and Riza hadn't really been surprised. While he wasn't exactly anti-social, putting someone as taciturn as him in a room with two or three conversations going at once had to be tiring. Miles had stayed, helping the three guest households put together an eight-person meal from the food stores they had been given, offering instruction on how to prepare foreign Ishvalan ingredients. Once everyone's hunger had been satisfied, there had been more conversation, more cups of ever-present tea, until finally, the others began to make their excuses, leaving for the comfort of their own guest houses.

And now the dishes were washed, the small house was set right, and Riza could finally relax. At least as much as was possible when there was a murderous vampire on the loose that they were planning a last-ditch final showdown with in the next 48 hours that would determine the fate of –

She heard the footsteps coming down the hall, stopping her train of thought on a dime. The steps entered the room, paused, and then approached, a weight falling onto the couch beside her. Roy's hand touched the top of her head, stroking gently. "You're not falling asleep already, are you?" His tone was light; teasing. "It's not even close to your usual bedtime."

"I've spent the last few days looking after you, looking after others, and planning a quasi-military operation," she reminded him wryly. "And all of that without the same kind of vampire-fuelled energy you only woke up with this morning." Without opening her eyes, she reached out, nudging him in the ribs with a closed fist. "I think I deserve a break."

"You deserve a lot more than a break."

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes or look over. "Do I?"

"Mmhmm. You deserve a good night's sleep, you deserve a vacation once all this is over…" His fingers slid gently, smoothly across her thigh, bringing her eyes open and her head turning in his direction. He was smiling, half teasingly, half in self-deprecation. "The love of a good man who you accidentally turned into a vampire…."

"Evidently, the new abilities didn't give you better flirting skills." Turning onto her side, facing him with her legs curled under her and her head resting on the back of the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"All right. I haven't had an anger flash in… ten minutes?" He shrugged. "I still feel like I could hold my own in an arm-wrestling match with Armstrong, but I haven't escalated to trying to jump off buildings to see if I can fly." His look turned mischievous. "And then, of course, there's the other side effect that showed up sometime this afternoon, about the time you accidentally brushed up against my arm."

"… Ah, I see." Before she could stop herself, Riza's eyes drifted to the front of his pants, but the loose desert garment was useful for hiding most kinds of shape, as well as keeping the wearer cool. "I had no idea. You hid your emotions very well."

"We've been hiding emotions like that in front of people for years," he reminded her, inching closer. "But now we're alone, and we don't have to hide anything until tomorrow morning." He held out a hand, his smile disarming and filled with every bit of smooth operation his aunt had drilled into him over the years. "What do you say? Even if I get carried away and bite you, it's not like it'll have an effect."

Riza tugged at the charm around her neck. "This doesn't bother you?"

"Not much. At least, not yet."

Without another word, she slid her hand into his, fully expecting him to get up and tug her gently toward the bedrooms down the hall. Instead, he pulled her closer until she sat astride his lap, the skirt of her dress hiked up and his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline. Riza took a deep, only slightly shuddery breath, able to feel the swell of him through the light fabric of the desert trousers and her own undergarments.

"Steady, love." His voice was deep and husky in her ear, his warm breath feathering her hair to cause a tickle along the back of her neck. "I'd say pace yourself, but maybe you ought to just follow my lead."

Riza shivered pleasurably, her hands sliding up the plane of his chest to link behind his neck. Her head turned at the same time as his, and she caught the fervent kiss on her lips, revelling in the hungry way his mouth came after hers. She felt motion at her waist, and then the sash came away, thrown carelessly to the floor as his hand dove impatiently beneath the skirt.

The tap of a finger on her hip was a suggestion, and she lifted onto her knees, nearly groaning in protest as she left the tantalizing sensation of her ultimate prize… and had to catch herself by way of her hands on his shoulders as a new, even more electrifying touch stroked slowly, agonizingly slowly, along the edge of her underwear where it rested against the inside of the very top of her thigh.

Her fingers raked through his hair, gripping the strands tight as the same teasing finger slid higher, hooked over the top, and pulled. The soft drag of the cotton over her skin left a faint, pleasant warmth that marked its downward progress, and she reached down, feeling almost blindly for the unfamiliar closures of desert pants.

Roy's free hand stilled hers, tugging her fingers away. "No, not yet," he murmured, pressing his nose to her cheek. "I told you, you deserve to relax. This is your time."

She was finding it harder to keep a rein on her breathing, let alone the tiny moans – and, worst of all, whimpers – of pleasure that she wanted so desperately to let loose…. But that would only tell him exactly how much he was getting to her. "Seems like you get that short end of that particular stick," she managed, without too much of a shake in her tone.

It was the last full sentence she was able to string together for several minutes as his hand slid past the panties tugged partway down her thighs, his fingers easily finding the wet evidence of her own desire.

"Not at all." His voice was a low purr, dangerously seductive, as the fingertips beginning their lazy stroking once again. She gave in without meaning to, dropping her head to his shoulder with a moan that came from deep inside, someplace primal where it was the only way she could possibly communicate how it felt. "To hear you make that sound? Knowing I'm the only one you've ever made that sound for?"

His fingers did some magical little twirl that sent cold fire up through the centre of her, all the while drawing closer to their goal. The word 'please,' hovered on her lips, she wanted to take his hand and guide him, to put and end to the torture of it all and just g _ive her what she wanted, da_ _m_ _mit…._ But she knew that if she did, he would stop. It was all a part of the game.

One fingertip circled the entrance with near insolence, and Riza bit her lip, the new moan sneaking past her teeth anyway. She felt Roy's lips spread wide in a grin against her shoulder. "To hear you make that sound is more of a turn-on than anything else," he murmured.

The words were nearly lost in the rush of air leaving her lungs as two fingers slid inside, with a deftness, an insidiousness, a surety that sent her pressing closer against him. She nearly cried out as they withdrew; she didn't realize how much she had needed this, had wanted this, had wanted _him_. All the stress, all the tension, he was right, she needed it gone and he was the one to take it take all of it take _her_ –

Insertion again, withdrawal again. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as he shifted slightly on the couch, not leaving her, his head lifting. He pressed a kiss to her neck, his fingers slipping in once more, deeper, harder, pressing against the nerve endings to send her toes curling and her hands gripping tighter as she panted a curse into his ear.

After so long without him and after all the stress, she came quickly. He seemed to sense it coming, and abandoned the sucking kiss he had been attentively paying to the side of her neck. In the same instant that her final scream of orgasm muffled itself in his shoulder, his elongated canine teeth buried themselves in her skin.


	30. Lights Out

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and welcome back FINALLY to Tainted Blood! I'm so sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out. I was away last weekend with no time to finish it, and between my social life, other personal projects, and trying to have a life in general, writing temporarily took a back seat. But I'm back with a new chapter, it's an interesting one, and things are starting to work toward the climax, so hopefully the words come more easily in future for steadier updates. Thanks for sticking around!  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty - Lights Out**

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL  
1243 HOURS, APRIL 29TH

He came stealing to the door of the bedroom with sinister, silent grace, materializing in the shadows with hardly a whisper of sound. This was the third time, he mused, that he had found them sleeping, whether mere feet away or sharing the same bed. And for them to share now, when it was a simple single-occupancy bed…. Well, that was a trick indeed.

Mustang lay on his left side, one arm draped possessively over his Lieutenant's body. She had her back to him, one hand folded under their shared pillow, the other wrapped around the cloth pouch around her neck.

…That was going to present a problem.

Kimblee slid closer, careful to make no noise as he moved. The Flame Alchemist was the lighter sleeper of the pair, and if he were alerted to Kimblee's presence, he was liable to –

A scent struck his delicate nose, and he stopped partway across the room toward the bed, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed cautiously. Another step forward, more sniffing… and his lip curled with disgust. They had been at each other again, the sweet, heavy musk of the deed lying low in the air, taunting him with that which she would not give him.

Unconsciously, he bared his teeth, glaring at the sleeping woman in the bed until something like red mist began creeping across his vision. The number of times these two insolent whelps had made love before Riza realized who she truly was now, before her turning and transition had been complete… those, he could overlook. She hadn't been her true self, merely the base shadow she was before, as a human.

He knew she had flirted with Mustang once she became her new, true self, had teased and taunted but never committed to the act… that was understandable, too. He was potential prey, and she had been toying with her food, playing a sexualized game of cat and mouse…. But she had never let either of them – Mustang or Kimblee – touch her. She had permitted their physical nearness… but nothing more. That was fine; Kimblee cultivated his patience with her; he had to, or risk driving her away or turning her against him.

But now….

This was betrayal of the highest order. To first be tricked into her capture by the enemy, to have the indignity of her humanity forced back upon her, to fall back into her lover's arms as though she weren't superior to him now in every way…. His eyes fell on the fingers that curved around the charm as it rested in her palm. Worst of all these sins, she now, very literally, clung to that same inferior humanity.

How _dare_ she?

It had been his intention to, quite simply, plug his nose and cut the cord of the charm with a kitchen knife. Once it fell away, her inward better half would reassert itself and then they could get on with his revenge. Mustang was staying in the same house, so once she was back to a much more suitable state, they would have converged on him together. Another gruesome murder, this time with a purpose other than survival: revenge. Catharsis. Closure.

But as long as that pouch touched her in some way, whether by hanging around her neck or resting in her palm, it would keep her vampire persona locked away.

He crouched beside the bed, still far enough away that the smell couldn't reach him, his hand grasping his chin in thought. Purple eyes stared hard at the pouch, his mind working to think of how he might dispose of it. Saying he would remove it from her and actually doing so was proving to be more easily said than done.

The initial idea had jumped into his mind as a caricature: himself with a knife tied to a long pole, snagging the cord of the necklace and severing it, and the vampire woman waking from sleep with a bright smile, ready to wreak havoc on the population with him. It had at least provided the jumping off point for his planning. It was at least evident he would need to remove the pouch from the equation.

A new idea materialized on the surface of his mind, and his eyes closed. It was worth a try, at least. Stretching out with his mind, he found the aura of her physical body, just five feet away. But there was only the faintest trace he could feel of her alternate personality, lurking out of sight behind the rock walls of her mind, unable to break through.

Something else was keeping him out her mind, not allowing him to perceive anything more than surface thoughts, or the faintest traces of emotion. An invisible barrier seemed to encircle her, denying him access… that accursed pouch again.

He was just beginning to grow frustrated, to think that that first ridiculous scheme of the knife-pole was his most valid option, when he sensed the aura behind Hawkeye's. Literally, behind her. The same vague but slowly growing presence he had been feeling for a few days, the sign of another developing vampire.

… _No…. It couldn't possibly be…. She couldn't have…._

Rising on his knees, he peered over the curve of Hawkeye's shoulder to the sleeping man behind her. The collar of the loose sleep shirt gaped at Mustang's neck, leaving the faint marks of the fateful bite highly visible, if one knew to look. For a long moment, Kimblee merely stared, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment.

He had thought she had betrayed him by allowing herself to have her humanity reasserted, to return to the humans and let them hide her away. Let them suppress who she truly was now. But her betrayal had been twofold. She had lectured him on not creating any more vampires, on conserving their resources… and then gone and turned her lover, likely in a fit of passion.

Passion…? Like the kind that had obviously transpired earlier in the evening?

Thoughts whirled rapidly through Kimblee's mind, and he pushed to his feet, beginning to pace silently up and down the room. The first symptoms of vampirism took hours to set in, and the first signs were extreme fatigue, to the point of the victim fading in and out of consciousness. Depending how long ago these two had had their little frolic, Mustang could be edging toward that first symptom, or else right at the edge of –

No, that wasn't it. The man was a fledgling vampire, no doubt, but Kimblee had felt his sense growing for three days and the bite didn't appear to be all that fresh. It must have happened the morning after Hawkeye had been captured and forced to wear the pouch. They had thought it safe to pick up where they left off, and Mustang had paid the price for that bit of arrogance. Ah well, call it karma.

It still left Kimblee with the problem of how to remove the pouch from Hawkeye's neck without either waking her or vomiting half his organs onto the bedroom floor.

He halted his pacing, standing with his hands folded behind his back, staring at the woman in the bed. Where was the weak point on a necklace like that, with a cloth pouch held together with cord and tied behind the neck? The knot in the cord perhaps, or where it was knotted around the neck of the pouch….

Purple eyes landed on her hand and the little cloth vessel within. Or maybe… the weak spot was the pouch itself.

Breaking into a grin, Kimblee stole from the room. He had known it would be simple when it finally came to him, the perfect way to get rid of that stupid decoration. And the night was yet young; there were six hours left until full daylight, and by then, his Hawkeye would be back again.

He found the first item he was looking for in the small kitchen: a vegetable knife with a smooth, sharp blade. Not too long, in case he missed or drove it too deeply by accident, but it easily split the hair he pulled and folded over the cutting edge. Knife in hand, he quickly located the second item he needed – a simple straw broom – in a hallway closet.

Returning to the bedroom, he pulled the laces from the men's sized military boots that sat under a chair in the corner. The corresponding uniform was folded on the seat, likely only brought along on the off-chance Mustang needed it, since he hadn't been wearing the thing. Laying the broom flat on the floor, careful not to make unnecessary noise, he bound the knife to the end of it, creating a makeshift spear with a blade at one end and a brush at the other.

Hefting it in one hand, he stood, and turned back toward the bed.

* * *

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0115 HOURS, APRIL 29TH

She breathed deeply as she came awake, a smile spreading across her lips as she felt the weight of the arm around her waist. Snuggling backward, pressing her back more firmly against his chest, she was gratified to feel the arm tighten slightly, as he tugged her even closer in his sleep. At least, she assumed he was sleeping; it was a bit early yet for him to begin the somewhat night-owlish sleeping habits of a vampire fledgling.

Yawning, she resettled her head on the pillow, closing her eyes for the return to sleep. She had been having such a strange dream, though not an unpleasant one, and part of her brain sleepily wondered if she could pick it up where she left off. Something about a vacation high in the mountains, sitting by the fire in a snug log cabin, Roy by her side and Hayate at their feet….

The transition from wakefulness to sleep was so seamless, she didn't even notice. It probably took longer in waking life, but it seemed like only moments until she found herself clinging to the side of a rocky mountain, her boots firmly gripping a foothold, and her pickaxe wedged into a small fissure overhead. A rope, knotted around her waist, trailed off out of sight over a ledge ten feet above.

Roy's face, encircled by a fur-lined parka hood, appeared above her, and he grinned. "Did you fall asleep down there? Come on, we've still got a long way to go if we want to make it to the halfway point before dark."

"Just catching my breath," she told him. "Did you get that line secure?"

"Steady as a rock."

She freed her pickaxe from the ice and stowed it in a loop attached to her climbing harness. Gripping the rope firmly in both hands, she tugged the metal cleats of her left boot free, then the right, allowing the rope to gradually take her weight. Her biceps burned as she hauled herself upward, catching the rope between her feet to help her gain another two feet.

"Careful; take it a little bit at a time," Roy advised. "Just a little farther and then I can grab on and help pull you up."

She swung gently, bringing herself in toward the icy cliff face, letting the momentum dig the cleats into the frozen surface. A handhold presented itself and she clung with her right hand, the left on the rope holding her steady. Eight feet to go; five if she only needed to get as far as Roy's reach.

Her right foot slipped slightly, and Riza gritted her teeth. Letting go of her handhold, she latched onto the rope again, and pushed outward from the cliff with both feet. This time, the arc was sufficient enough for her to get both feet straight in front of her as she swung back toward the nearly sheer ice. She unlocked her knees, bracing for impact –

It came, but her momentum was not arrested as she had expected. Instead, her feet crashed through what she had thought to be a solid wall of ice, snow, and rock. It shattered, tiny, glittering fragments flying around her face, coating her winter clothes in a fine powder that shimmered once as she sailed through the new opening. She felt the rope wrench free of its anchorage up above, and she dropped like a stone to the floor of the newfound cave, skidding a short distance on her left hip.

She lay still a moment, once she finally came to a stop, her surprised, panting breaths echoing off the icy walls as she slowly calmed. It was the only sound in the space, aside from the rustle of her hair on her shoulders as she turned her head, looking around. She had fetched up in a large cavern, everything tinged blue by the ice and snow, a smooth stone floor beneath her and large stalactites of ice hanging ominously above. The walls were rock, coated sporadically in patches of rough-textured ice and the occasional dusting of snow.

"Trust you to come barrelling in here like you own the place."

Riza's head snapped up, searching for the source of the voice as the words echoed and rebounded. It took her several moments to spot the woman lurking in the shadows, just inside the large gap where Riza had crashed through the cliff face. She stood leaning against the wall, apparently impervious to the cold even though she only wore a white abaya edged with emerald green beading. Her lips were fixed in a contemptuous smirk, and as they parted into a dark grin, the elongated canine teeth were revealed.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cave's temperature shot down Riza's spine.

She picked herself up slowly, never taking her eyes off the other woman… the one who, aside from her pointed teeth and purple eyes, looked exactly like her in every respect. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," the vampire shot back, unfazed. "I mean, I expected to cross paths with you again at some point, given that we share a brain, but I can't say I thought it would happen quite so out of the blue." She tilted her head to one side, regarding Riza curiously. "But I know you'd rather throw yourself in Roy's flames than come here voluntarily, so… something happened. Either to you, to that awful little charm…. Something orchestrated by Kimblee… or maybe Roy, now that he's turning?"

Riza gritted her teeth. "He wouldn't. He knows I need to retain my humanity, at least until we're done with Kimblee."

"Does he, though." She grinned again, mocking this time. "Maybe he remembers how good the sex was when it was with a vampire. Maybe he's getting tired of being stuck with you." She leaned forward, her arms still folded. "He needs a girl who can really give him what he's looking for, can show him how good it really is. He needs someone he can really sink his teeth into, instead of fucking the same, boring –"

"Shut up."

Riza took a step forward, her gloved hands balling into fists at her sides, whether to punch this strange apparition, or to try and keep her own calm, she didn't know. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Not first-hand, no. But I've been watching." She stepped away from the wall, her hands dropping to her sides as she stood straight and tall. "And I'm about to get that hands-on experience."

Riza only made it a handful of steps before the vampire, her body elongated into a long, featureless black string, coalesced into solid form just outside the hole in the cliff face. Clinging easily to the nearly smooth surface, she watched Riza dashing across the rock floor toward her, ice already creeping in from the hole's edges, intent on covering it completely.

"Bye bye, boring," that fanged smile taunted. "Helloooo, new and interesting."

The ice crawled faster over the opening as Riza raced forward, trying to beat it for just one chance to punch the laughter off of the vampire's face… but she succeeded only in slamming futilely against the unrelenting, chill wall.

"No!" She slammed the side of one fist against it, resting her forehead on the cold surface. " No, _no_ –"

A thought struck: she was dreaming. She had to be. She was asleep in Roy's bed in the guest house in Jadad, not climbing some mountain in Northern Amestris, and certainly not trapped inside a cave. Roy was her proof; if she had been trapped, he would have been frantically trying to get to her, calling her name… and he had been silent. It was a dream; there was no other explanation.

But when she opened her eyes again, the cave and its walls of ice were gone, along with the floor and the frozen stalactites. In its place was an impenetrable blackness, and she floated in the middle of it, entirely weightless. Although her breath no longer plumed in front of her and she had no parka, boots, or heavy gloves… she shivered, a creeping dread sending her skin crawling. She knew this place.

The inner partition of her mind where whichever personality – herself or the vampire – was imprisoned when not in control, and if she was in here….

* * *

He came awake as she stirred again in his arms, one dark eye opening to watch her as she shifted position. But where he thought she might turn over, cuddle into his chest, and drift back to sleep, she lifted her head from the pillow and half-rose on an elbow. Her hair swished softly over her shoulders as she glanced about the room, her eyes settling on the window and the darkness outside.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, moving his arm from its place around her waist to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Bad dream?"

"Depends on how you look at it," she answered. "From my perspective, it was a very good dream."

Laughing quietly, he lifted his head, nuzzling his nose against the back of her shoulder. Even this late at night, despite avoiding direct light for a few days, her clothes smelled of fresh air and sunshine, of windswept sand and sun-bleached stone. "Beating up the bad guys in your sleep?"

"Something like that."

She turned over so quickly that the bed barely had time to creak with the movement. In the space of a breath, she sat astride his hips, her mouth closed in a knowing smirk as her hands began the slow, teasing push if his shirt up his torso. Roy's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he said nothing, made no move to resist. At least until the backs of her fingers brushed over the bare skin of his stomach.

He hissed in a quick breath, twitching away from the touch as best he could. "Riza, your hands are freezing."

"You're the Flame Alchemist, aren't you?" She leaned close, her expression knowing. "So warm them up."

Shaking his head, he braced a hand either side of himself to push into a more comfortable position. "No can do. With the vampirism setting in, I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do alchemy, or if I still can at –"

He broke off, glancing down and to his left as his hand touched something… unexpected. Grit trickled between his fingers, feeling uncomfortably warm and prickling against his skin. As he looked down, a thin, twisting object that glinted dully in what little light was available tumbled from its precarious perch on a small rise in the mattress to land on the back of his hand. Heat flared instantly from the spot, and he reflexively flicked the thing away.

"What the –"

The realization clicked, and his head whipped around, seeking out the shadow of the charm around Riza's neck. The pouch hung limply, looking flat where once it had been rounded and plump with its contents. One side had a ragged edge that flapped loosely, sending a thin trickle of remaining sand onto his shirt.

His eyes travelled slowly, dreadfully north, to the widely smiling mouth, just as her lips parted to show the elongated canine teeth. The tip of her tongue slid out, sliding lasciviously over her bottom lip, leaving it damp and glistening. Roy swallowed hard, forcing his eyes higher, to meet her gaze. In the low light, he couldn't tell amethyst from brown, and the pupils were hard to spot… but she leaned in, ringing the dark, snakelike slits into clearer focus.

"You're staring, fire boy," she purred. "Like what you see?"

His reaction was visceral, something done purely on instinct that he never would have attempted if it were the real Riza. Grasping her firmly by the waist in both hands, he twisted to the side at the same moment he gave a strong shove, throwing her off of the bed and partway across the room.

"The hell do you want?" he snapped, sliding off the end of the bed and turning to face her, his hands readying themselves into fists. This was no time to play nice; he felt the vampire-induced anger well up, hot and acidic in his chest, and he embraced it, let it fuel his own anger at being caught off-guard. He had been _flirting_ with this thing, unaware it wasn't the woman he had gone to bed with, the human female who had fallen asleep nestled in his arms.

She had landed catlike on her feet, in a low crouch, which she transitioned easily into a comfortable kneeling position. One corner of her mouth quirked upward, her hands folded too-innocently in her lap. "What do I get if I say 'you?'" she teased, her eyes lowering to somewhere just below waist level. "I mean… I _am_ already on my knees…."

He felt the red flush flare in his cheeks, but held his ground, folding his arms over his chest. "Not going to happen. I thought I made it clear that while the body is familiar, I don't want anything to do with it when you're the one that's in charge."

The vampire shook her head, tutting softly. "We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment."

He levelled a finger at her, feeling the anger starting to creep up the back of his throat like bile. "I was completely serious when I said that, and I still am. As long as it's you that's calling the shots, it won't matter what you do to try and convince me; I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Rolling her eyes, giving up the charade of playful innocence, she got to her feet and dusted herself off. "You know, one of these days, that high horse you're riding is going to buck you off. And when your ass is in the dirt, I'm going to be laughing in your face."

"Only if I don't stop Kimblee before then." Roy fought the instinct to glance at the dresser drawer where his own protection charm had been stowed after Riza bit him. If he could get to it, somehow get it around her neck…. "You'll be laughing out the other side of your face when he's gone and takes you with him."

"Good luck with that," she scoffed, one hand rising to perch on her hip. "You're forgetting the catch, fearless leader. I'm in your girl's head; her feelings are my feelings. Her thoughts are my thoughts. Her memories are my memories. Memories like that little brainstorming session you and your pals held today, to bring together a plan." Her eyes drifted to the side, her lips curling into a darkly sensual smile. "That, and the delightful things those magic fingers of yours are capable of…. But, I digress."

Her free hand lifted, tapping a mockingly thoughtful finger to her chin. "Now, what do you suppose would happen if I took Riza for a little walk, went and found Kimblee, and told him all about what you and the others are planning? Would you try to stop me?"

Gritting his teeth, Roy swallowed back the anger, a feeling like heartburn settling not-quite chokingly just at the top of his ribcage. "I suppose I'd have to."

Her teeth showed, and she slinked a step closer. "And how would you go about that? You don't have a _yantir_ trap circle around me, you're not quite strong enough yet to fight me one on one…." Another step. "Maybe you'd rather just tie me up."

"It's a good thing Riza's not here to listen to this," he said evenly. "She'd kill you herself and save me the trouble."

"…You're… you're joking, right?" Her eyes rolled skyward again, in total exasperation. "Do you even _listen_ to yourself? She can't kill me, because if she did, she'd be killing herself." She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. "Honestly, I'm starting to see why you consult with Breda on strategy stuff; he's the real brains of the operation, isn't he?"

"If you're stooping to insulting my intelligence, then we have nothing left to talk about." He turned away, pacing toward the dresser, hoping the movement looked natural enough not to raise suspicion. If he could just get the charm, he'd take his chances with trying to force it over her head. What could she really do to him? Bite him again?

"Or, here's another idea…." Her hands snaked over his shoulders, wrapping him in a loose hug as she pressed against his back. "Why don't we both go find Kimblee? There's only one of him, and even though you're not all that strong yet, there's two of us. If we work together… we could take him down. Not kill him, of course, but we could trap him. Stick him in a trap circle, throw him just enough fresh blood to keep him alive…."

He opened the drawer, very visibly taking a pair of socks from it while his left hand secreted the charm. "And then what? What would you and I do?"

Her breath wafted warm across his ear. "Rule," she breathed. "We'll set ourselves up as the overlords of a new civilization. We'll offer to protect them and to not turn them, and in return, they'll pay tribute in blood. It's only fair, really."

"You have a very disturbed sense of what's fair and what isn't."

"Only from your point of view."

When he moved, it was quickly, dodging quickly to the side and wrenching himself out of her embrace. He had to remind himself that this was not Riza, it was not somebody he knew at all; it was merely an enemy, to be avoided or subdued at all costs. He heard the vampire stagger briefly, sent off-balance by the motion, and stopped his own momentum, turning to face her.

She shot him a dirty look as she regained her balance. "You know, there are more polite ways of disagreeing."

"I'm past caring." Taking a ready stance, Roy kept his left hand back, hoping the charm tucked into his palm would be less noticeable that way. "I'd rather just have this out and be done with it."

The vampire eyed him dubiously. "…If you punch me in the nose and break it, you'd better pray to whatever deity you believe in that your girl will forgive you, if and when she gets back."

"She'll understand."

His first attack, following on the heels of this comment, was to close the gap and throw a jab toward her shoulder. Roy's mind flashed back to several casual sessions of instruction with Armstrong over the years, the big man demonstrating different moves and allowing Roy to throw practice punches into the palms of his huge hands. Roy had thought, at the time, that there would never be occasion for him to use what he was taught, not with Riza around… but the universe loved nothing more than to prove an alchemist wrong.

He managed two more strikes in succession, one to her ribs on the opposite of his first hit, and a second – almost regretfully – that should have landed on her left cheekbone. It would have, had she not interposed a hand, caught his fist, and twisted viciously.

Roy couldn't stop the gasp of pain that leapt from his throat as he dropped involuntarily to one knee in front her, the nails of the hand holding his captive digging into the faint scar of the transmutation circle he had once cut into his own skin. In his shock, the charm fell from his other hand, dropping uselessly to the floor.

She had said he wasn't strong enough to fight her… he hadn't realized just how right she was.

Gentle fingers touched his chin, turning his face up to her. The smile she gave him would have been beatific, if not for the pointed teeth jutting from her upper jaw. "Silly man," she purred, running a thumb over his lip. "I tried to warn you. You should have listened to me, instead of trying to force another charm around my neck." The tip of her index finger touched him lightly on the nose. "I know you want to be the hero, but this time… you're going to have to man up and take the loss."

"I don't –"

His words were cut off as she bent and kissed him fiercely, her free hand winding into the hair at the back of his head. Roy made a noise of surprise and protest deep in his throat, but it was muffled by her mouth on his. Her tongue traced his lips, prodded for entry, and then withdrew when he clamped his jaws shut.

She leaned back, looking annoyed. "Honestly, you're being uncharacteristically prudish about this whole thing, and it's getting _entirely_ too old."

Roy didn't have time for a rebuttal before she dropped his hand, drew back, and threw all her weight into a left hook that landed square on his jaw. He felt the impact, felt himself knocked sideways… but never felt the hardwood floor he landed on. Partway through the fall, the proverbial daylights flickered once, and went out.


	31. Change in Plans

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope everyone's summers are going well; I realized I hadn't sent out that particular good wish and I thought I had better do it before summer's gone! Mine has been…busy, which you'll know if you've been reading my last few author's notes. And it's not slowing down any time soon, the same of which can apparently be said for this story! I had originally intended it to be about the same length as Father Figure, but the story kind of took on a mind of its own. Oh well, I suppose it's just more to love. Enjoy this week's chapter!_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-one - Change in Plans**

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0833 HOURS, APRIL 29TH

Knocking on the house's front door for the third time, Rebecca leaned close to the wood and called "Riza, if you and your undead boss don't get your collective butts in gear, we're leaving without you!" She waited, listening closely, but there was no sound from inside, either of an answering yell – and with her insult to Mustang, there would have been yelling – or even footsteps approaching the door.

"She's your superior officer, and yet she allows you to talk to her like that?"

Rebecca jumped, turning to look over her shoulder to where Scar was approaching. His expression was lightly curious, the red eyes focussed on her before they flicked briefly toward the still-closed front door. She allowed herself the shortest of seconds to watch the way the morning sun glinted in his white hair, and outlined the sharp angles of a face that looked like it had been sculpted from smooth milk chocolate… and then shrugged airily.

"Best friendships supersede the rank and file sometimes," she commented. "Look at Mustang and his friend Hughes; not exactly a whole lot of saluting and yes-sirring going on there."

"I never had the chance to meet him, but from what I'm given to understand, he was a very good man." Scar hesitated briefly, then added, "The Colonel showed strong emotion on finding the killer; it isn't hard to see that they were close." He indicated the door with a nod. "Perhaps they've already left to join the others?"

"I don't think so." She glanced back along the street the way she had come. "We were supposed to meet at the place Armstrong and I are splitting, and I took the most direct route here without passing them." She shrugged. "Could be they both just overslept. Riza sleeps like the dead; she wouldn't hear me knocking if she was right on the other side of the door."

Without a word, Scar moved past her and off down the side of the small house, his sandalled feet kicking up small puffs of dust as he walked. Rebecca followed, curious as to what he was up to, as he circled the building to its rear and stopped by one of the windows. The curtains were pulled most of the way across, leaving only an inch opening into the room beyond.

The scarred man cupped one hand to the glass to cut the sun's glare, gazing intently inside… and his already present frown deepened. He didn't bother to explain the reaction, merely turned and kept moving toward the house's back entrance. Rebecca followed, having to move at a trot to keep up with his longer, urgent strides.

He didn't hesitate when he reached the door; his right arm withdrew from the folds of his robe, his palm pressed flat to the sturdy planks, and in an implosion of dust and splinters, they disintegrated.

Something cold washed over Rebecca as her eyebrows shot upward. Riza had told her about the murders this man had committed… and now she could imagine how they might have looked. Stepping through the doorway after him, her stomach beginning to fill with nervous dread, she asked quietly, "What did you see?"

"Nothing," he answered.

"Try again, buddy," she scoffed, trailing behind as he moved purposefully down the hall. He opened the door to one bedroom, looking briefly inside before moving to the next. If she recalled correctly, the first door was Mustang's room, with Riza's being at the end of the hall. "Something has you spooked, now what is it?"

Opening the second bedroom door, Scar peered inside, then turned back to her. "As I said, I saw nothing," he said gravely. "That is what disturbs me. They aren't here."

It was true. Mustang's bed looked slept in, but it was vacant, and the clothes he had been wearing the day before were folded on top of the dresser in the corner. Moving down the hall, she glanced into Riza's room, finding it immaculate with no signs of occupation aside from the homespun dress on a hanger that hung from a peg in the wall.

 _Either they're both in their pajamas, or they're running around in the buff,_ she thought distractedly. Either way, they wouldn't have gone to meet the others in anything other than everyday attire. No, something had happened and the two of them had skedaddled off somewhere. Maybe Kimblee had paid them a visit in the night? Forced them to fight or to follow him?

"In here."

She followed Scar's voice back to Mustang's room, found him holding the bedsheet back and staring at the mattress. He looked up as she entered, and pointed to something just out of sight behind the rumpled sheets.

When she came around to his side, it took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. A pile of fine, pale sand, with several dried flowers that had once been white half-buried in the grit. Flung a little to one side was a length of silver wire twisted into an intricate shape. Having never seen the contents of a protection charm outside of their carrying pouch, it took her a moment to recognize them for what they were.

"Oh, damn…" she murmured, feeling the sense of dread grow a little stronger. "It was just the two of them here last night… and Riza was the only one wearing a charm…."

Scar's eyes were travelling around the rest of the room, and his mouth thinned into a grim line. "I have some idea of what may have happened," he said after a moment. Letting go of the sheet he had been holding, he crossed to the dresser and bent, picking something up from beside it. "I think the Colonel's transformation may have advanced farther than we had thought. The Lieutenant realized this, and came in with a charm –" He held up the one he had just retrieved from the floor. "And in trying to force it onto him, he tore hers. That released her vampire personality, and together, they've run off during the night. Possibly to rejoin Kimblee."

A cold, creeping dread climbed up Rebecca's back, settling clawlike fingers onto her shoulders. She shivered. "Oh no…. Poor Riza. What can we do?"

The tall, scarred man was quiet a moment, contemplating, before he said, "We should get the others. They need to know, and then we can make a decision."

Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the house, Rebecca close behind him. Neither spoke, each absorbed in their own thoughts, processing this new situation. Despite the morning sun warming her skin, Rebecca couldn't help but watch her surroundings, just in case Riza was watching from the shadows… or Kimblee was.

The city, which had felt relatively safe to her, now had a subtle cold, dangerous edge.

* * *

UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0907 HOURS, APRIL 29TH

She was waiting in a corner of the room, watchful and silent, when he regained consciousness. The room was filled with shadow, giving her plenty of space to remain partially hidden, and to circle the lone, weakened sunbeam that came through the window hindered only by a canvas curtain.

Roy lay in the centre of the square of light on the floor, another precaution on her part. It wouldn't hurt him, hut it would at least slow him down if he decided to come for her, which after tricking him, knocking him unconscious, and kidnapping him, she fully expected him to do.

His fingers twitched, one hand rising to clumsily rub at his eyes. He yawned, his head lolling to one side… and Riza could almost forgive him for trying to outwit her at the house. He cut such a picture now – an alluring kind of indolence – that she could almost forget how he had tried to oppress this new, better her for the second time.

His head rolled back to an even keel again, and his eyes opened to stare, disoriented, at the ceiling. From her vantage point, with the sun falling as it did, Riza was gratified to see the tinge of deep purple colouring the irises.

"You've kept me waiting," she said flatly into the silence.

Roy didn't jump, or otherwise react to her presence. He had known she was there, sensing her with the first tinglings of a psychic connection just as she felt his presence begin to grow and strengthen as he came awake. Came alive, so to speak. When he answered, his voice was a slightly huskier version of its usual smooth timbre, conjuring a thrill of pleasure deep within her.

"My apologies," he murmured, rolling to one side and easing himself up once he was free from the draining sunlight. His eyes went to where she leaned against the wall in her white _abaya_ – retrieved from a stack of freshly washed and folded clothes before they had left the house – with her arms folded, and her disapproving glare staring him down.

She watched as he rose slowly, crossing the six feet between them, his eyes never leaving hers. "I could have been hunting, or finding us a better place to go to ground." One blonde eyebrow lifted as she gave him an appraising look, watching as he sank to his knees again. "Or else I could have found Kimblee and informed him of your… change. Though I suspect he already knows."

Roy shrugged, unconcerned. "As I said, you have my apologies," he said simply, before bending low. His lips pressed to the top of her foot, before trailing slowly, inexorably upward to her ankle and then along the smooth, taut skin of her shin, one hand lifting to gently push the _abaya_ out of his way. "It's up to you whether you accept them or not."

Riza allowed the trail of kisses to reach as far as the inside mid-thigh, then reached down to stop him. With her fingers curled around his chin, she lifted his gaze hers, her previously appreciative look turning critical. "You've had conscious control of that body for two minutes," she stated with minimal inflection. "Are you _trying_ to put it through all of its paces already?"

"Are you trying to tell me no?" he countered, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. His hand settled on her leg, slithering up the smooth skin under the white cotton of her clothes. He rose on his knees, his hand rising higher and slipping around behind her hip. "We've got all the rest of the day before we can go anywhere. We have to spend that time somehow."

She grinned at that, but pushed him gently away nonetheless. "Yeah, but we both know that if we start going at each other now, we won't stop. And we've got things we need to sort out." Bending, she pressed a fingertip to his chest, well aware of the way his eyes – a much darker purple than her own – dipped to her lips. "But once we're done with that? You're all mine."

"Sure you aren't mine?" he grinned lopsidedly.

Riza threaded her fingers into his hair, tightening her grip and drawing his head back until he hissed in combined pain and pleasure. "Very sure. I created you," she purred, her voice dark with intent. "I made you the way you are. Therefore, you're mine."

She bit lightly, playfully at the side of his neck, her teeth not even coming close to breaking the skin, before she released him and stepped around him, pacing off across the room. "Our biggest concern, for the moment, is where we stand. As I said, Kimblee knows by now that you've turned, but he didn't come to find us before sunrise. He's stuck away from us until nightfall, meaning we have time."

Getting to his feet again, Roy shot her a curious look. "Time?"

"Time to decide whether or not we're going to let him stay in control," she clarified, turning to face him again. "Whether we want to cow-tow to that puffed-up psychopath, or take him down and install ourselves in his place." She smiled knowingly. "You refused before, but that was before your transition. I'm hoping you may feel differently about it now."

Roy shrugged, feigning disinterest, though she caught the gleam of covetousness in his eyes. He wanted to overthrow Kimblee as badly as his human self had wanted to oust Bradley from power. "I could be convinced," he said, lying. He was already on board.

"Good. In which case, there's already a plan halfway in place that we could potentially hijack –"

He raised a hand just high enough to forestall further comment. "Hang on a second. I have a question first." He paused to make sure he had the floor, then continued, "What makes you think I'm fully turned? You only bit me the other day, and it took you most of two weeks to turn fully. Why should it be different for me?"

Riza gave him a deadpan look, folding her arms. "You're fully turned, because the real Roy Mustang wouldn't be trying to get into my pants. He said as much, _ad nauseum_. You pawing at me is proof enough, aside from the fangs and the purple eyes." She paused, watching him with mild interest for a moment before she continued. "As for why you turned so quickly… I don't know for sure. I only have theories."

"Let's hear 'em."

She settled to a comfortable spot on the floor, her legs folded to one side and her hands resting in her lap when she wasn't gesturing as she spoke. "First of all, you're not trying to heal from something at the same time as the vampirism is trying to take you over. I had severe blood loss before, and was already running on lower energy levels, whereas aside from a debilitating case of self-righteousness, you were completely healthy." She shrugged. "It could also be that the blood that was being infected wasn't entirely my own; it was a transfusion, and I received a second one directly after being bitten. The blood was too diluted of cells that had my actual – I don't know, essence? – that it took until my body could produce new cells to be taken over."

She waved an unconcerned hand. "Or maybe it's just because you're male. Who can really say?"

Nodding thoughtfully, he dropped to a seat on the floor a short distance away, resting his elbows on bent knees. "Makes a lot of sense to me. The virus was a bit diluted since you weren't fully in control when I got bitten, but once it took hold, it went like wildfire."

"Which is probably for the best, if we want to have any kind of fighting chance." Her eyes went to his arms, hidden inside the sleeves of the desert tunic, evidently searching for the faintest outline of muscle in the anonymous folds of fabric. "Because even though you weren't at full strength before you turned… you're likely close to it now."

Roy's eyes glinted in the faint light as they dipped toward her chest, his teeth showing white and ghostly as he grinned. "We could find out…."

"I told you: after we figure out how to dethrone Kimblee," she snapped, the sudden anger in her tone sending the words ricocheting around the small room. "Which, you still haven't said whether or not you'll help me with that."

"Of course, I will," he soothed. "You mentioned something about hijacking the humans' plans?"

She glared at him a moment longer, then pushed aside her annoyance and settled back to business. "Yes. Their plan was a good one, and there's no sense in trying to come up with a new plan when there's one ready made. And without their leaders, they'll be desperate enough to let us in on the takedown."

"Assuming that, without their leaders, they don't lose all confidence and abandon the plan entirely," Roy pointed out. "And if that happens, then it's you and I alone against dear old vampire dad."

Riza shivered delicately. "Don't call him that; that's disgusting and an insult to parents everywhere. If I considered him as any kind of father figure, I'd throw myself into pure sunlight at high noon. And anyway, they'll go through with it. At this point, no matter what staffing changes there have been, they'll have to. It's almost literally do or die."

"Ahh, I see." He sat back, bracing himself on both hands, and regarded her curiously. "So we wait for them to show up at the prearranged location, and then talk our way in before Kimblee decides to crash the party. How is that hijacking their plan?"

"Because instead of letting them kill him like they want to do, we're going to make sure he's incapacitated enough to be manhandled out to that house where your other half suppressed me the other night, break the circles just enough to throw him in, and then seal them back up again." She shrugged. "And after that, we take control of our new city."

"The Ishvalan leadership is going to put up a fight," Roy mused aloud, his eyes distant as he stared at the far wall in thought. "And if they throw their priests and warriors at us, we could be hard-pressed to keep control… unless we give them incentive not to attack. It could be a messy takeover; I think a hostile one is a given."

"No doubt." She was watching him closely. "But you're on board?"

"Why not?" He grinned, his eyes coming back into focus and fixing on her. "I've always wanted to be king."

* * *

UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL  
1927 HOURS, APRIL 29TH

The last golden wash of sunset was falling on the city as the group made their way toward their target building. They walked in silence, each carrying a pack with some form of equipment or supplies, each deeply absorbed in their own thoughts. A thin plume of dust rose behind them, the motes sparkling as they hung in the still evening air.

"I hope this will be enough," Fuery murmured, hitching his pack higher. "Scar says it's a big building, and this is going to be a bigger circle than they've used so far. Here's hoping it still works the same."

"From what I understand, as long as the symbols are in the right order and the right shape, the size of the circle doesn't matter." Breda kept his eyes forward, his expression grim. He had run through the strategy three times before they left, and had been playing it in slow-motion in his mind since they left the residential area, looking for any flaw in their plan. "And we have enough anti-vampire paraphernalia to keep us alive until we can make it work."

Walking just ahead of them, Falman looked back, shaking his own pack until a muffled clacking and the sound of shifting metal came from inside. "We could arm half a platoon with wooden stakes and holy iron alone," he pointed out. "And with as much wild garlic, silver, and blessed sand as we're carrying, we could face two dozen vampires, easily."

"Let's not put that to the test," Armstrong commented from just ahead of Falman. He looked back, cheerful smile taking any sting out of the rebuke. "Two and a half – or possibly three – is more than enough for my taste."

"Yeah, something tells me that if we have to deal with all three at once, it's going to be an exercise in herding cats," Rebecca chimed in. "Scar and Miles said she was pretty nimble, not to mention fast. They also said she nearly choked the life out of your boss before he got that last charm on her, so watch out for that, too."

She glanced back when there was no forthcoming reply, and immediately regretted her flippant remark. Slowing her pace, allowing a stricken-looking Fuery to draw level with her, she lowered her voice. "Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I should've thought about what I was saying. I just…." She shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm worried about them, too. Maybe more than I thought."

"I'm not freaked out." Fuery's reassurance was genuine, even though it was delivered without a smile. "I just realized that it confirmed something that had been bothering me. If the vampire in Lieutenant Hawkeye's body was actually trying to hurt the Colonel… then it proves she has no control over the vampire's actions. The Lieutenant would never do something like that."

Rebecca frowned, curious. "…Okay. We pretty well knew that before. What did it confirm?"

"That the two personalities – Riza Hawkeye and her vampire invader – really are two totally separate entities," Breda chimed in, his face lighting with understanding. "We had theorized before that they were, but I had doubts after she bit the Colonel and he began to turn. She admitted herself that there were still some attributes of vampirism that affected her in human form. What if the personalities were fused? Blended, somehow? Separating them could be disastrous for the host."

Swallowing convulsively, Rebecca took a deep breath. "So her trying to strangle Mustang… because it's something Riza would never do and it was a purely instinctual action… it's a clear indication of just how separate the personalities are."

Fuery was already nodding, "Because if the Lieutenant had any kind of a say in it, the attempted strangling wouldn't have happened. If she had even a small amount of control, the dominant traits of the vampire would have won out eventually, but there would likely have been a moment of hesitation, and neither Miles nor Scar reported one."

Having been following the discussion, Falman spoke up. "Meaning that if we manage to take out Kimblee, when the vampire personality fades from the Lieutenant – and subsequently, the Colonel – it will most likely do so without any damage." He thought for a moment, clearly trying to find an analogy. "Like soaking an envelope in water to get the stamp off, instead of trying to peel it off dry paper."

Resettling her shoulders under the pack, Rebecca lifted her chin and put some determination into her step. "Well, whatever it's like, we'd best get it done fast."

"Why's that?" Breda asked. "I don't think that the vampire state becomes harder to break the longer she's in it. It –"

"That's not it." She glanced back, her smile grim. "What kind of friend would I be if I let my best friend live on a diet of blood? There's probably a ton of calories in that."

From the front of the column, Scar looked back over his shoulder, red eyes visible in the slowly gathering dusk. "Quiet," he ordered, voice low. "Our target is just ahead, and since there's a chance we may have company waiting for us, I'd rather not advertise the fact that we've arrived. It would give them time to prepare."

The building was visible just down the city block, its pale stone walls glowing like molten gold in the light of the setting sun. Ribbons of dark tan ran along the perimeter of the roof, around the double doors, and around each broken glass were visible missing from the walls, showing gaps into the darkening interior.

Scar stopped at the building next door to their target, holding a hand up to signal the rest of the column to do likewise. An eerie silence lay over the scene, perfect stillness in the streets around them, and no light other than the dying rays from the west. The warrior shifted in place, rolling his shoulders.

"Something isn't right," he murmured. "I can sense it…."

Miles crept up beside him. "Should we send in a scouting team to clear the building?"

"Couldn't hurt." Looking back, Scar motioned to Armstrong, then shucked his pack and stood straight. "We will inspect the target, and signal you if it appears to be clear. The charms should be protection enough, but all the same…." He looked up to the burly Amestrian. "Keep your alchemy ready, Major."

The two of them stole forward, their steps making no noise in the soft, shifting sand. The rest of the group held their collective breath, watching them cross the remaining distance to the building's ornately carved wooden front doors. The brass fixtures were tarnished and covered in verdigris after so long exposed to the elements, but parts still glinted.

Just as Scar was reaching out for the nearest handle, both doors swung open into the interior.

Catlike, the warrior sprang back a few feet, the fingers of his right hand flexing as he prepared to destroy whatever came at him. Armstrong's muscles strained the fabric of his desert tunic, gauntleted hands curling into automatic fists. The group hanging back tensed, eyes widening and breaths being taken in surprised gasps.

Out onto the front stoop of the building stepped two figures, both in white, one with short black hair, the other with long blonde strands that she tossed back over her shoulder.

The vampire in Riza Hawkeye's body smirked down at the two men in front of her. "Took you guys long enough. I'm practically immortal and I could've grown old and died waiting for your little posse to get here."

Armstrong's tension had evaporated seconds after the duo appeared, and he was now openly staring at the familiar faces in front of him, his mouth hanging open slightly beneath his moustache. "…Colonel? Lieutenant? When you disappeared, we —"

"Whoa, back up a second, buddy." If the purple tinge in eyes that were normally black wasn't enough of a sign that things were wrong, the sudden and drastic change to Roy's mode of speech certainly was. Armstrong's mouth snapped shut, his already wide eyes widening further. "It's the same apartment, but there's a new tenant, if you get my drift."

Scar recovered first, asking the most important question. "What are you doing here?"

Riza shrugged unconcernedly. "Same as you. Seeing the sights, playing tourist, hoping to do a little vampire hunting on the side. I hear that's really big around here."

Miles came forward from the rest of the group, dropping his pack carefully to the dirt in case he needed to move quickly to evade her or her partner. "You're hunting Kimblee, too? I would have thought you were on his side of things." He stopped as her head swivelled, bringing those unsettling amethyst eyes to bear on him. "Unless you _are_ on his side and by 'hunting,' you mean 'trying to find him.'"

A soft snort issued from her nose. "Please, if I wanted to find that sack of shit, I'd just have to concentrate hard enough. As it is, I already know he's close by and closing. He's taking his time about it, since I'm not alone anymore —" She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at Roy, who waved nonchalantly. "— but he'll still be here in… an hour and a half? Two hours?"

"Which doesn't leave us much time." Breda came forward, marching boldly toward the front steps of the building. "Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we need to get in and get set up for our plan."

"Hold on a second, there, Chubs." Putting a hand on Breda's shoulder, Roy easily held him back from brushing past them. "I think you misunderstand why we're here. Like Miles said, we're hunting Kimblee, too. And there's no reason we can't all work together toward that." He paused as Breda shot him a doubtful look. "…Okay, maybe _one_ reason. But if you'll let me paraphrase something this body's previous owner said during his fight against Lust?"

He grinned, pointed teeth very much in evidence. "This plan of yours is tailor-made for our talents."

"And why should you be trusted?" Armstrong rumbled, having recovered his composure. "The two of you have already deserted us once. What's to stop you from turning on us?"

"Have a little trust, Alex," Riza soothed. "I only took Roy away for a little while so that he could finish transitioning without a lot of nosy people coming in and upsetting things. It's a disorienting process the first time, and although he recovered _very_ quickly —" She shot her partner a mischievous look that he countered with an unrepentant grin. "— I wanted to make sure he could rest without any interruptions until nightfall, if he needed it."

"You could have left a note or something!" Rebecca yelled from further along the block. "Would have saved some time and effort. Not to mention a door."

The Not Riza lifted a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with feigned emotion. "You broke into the house looking for us? That's so unbelievably sweet!" The expression vanished, her hand leaving her chest to wave away the concern. "But there's also nothing we can do about it now. If I'd left a note, then one of you hotheads would've decided to come haring after us and try to stop us. Because that's what you jokers _do_." She fixed Breda with an exasperated look. "Tell me you don't do that, and I'll call you the liar you are."

"I wasn't going to say anything like that," he shot back. "But did you ever think the note could have said you'd gone ahead and would meet us later, instead of explaining you'd run off to re-vampire yourselves?"

She appeared to think about that for a moment. "Hm. Good point. You really are the smart one of the bunch."

"Going back to the matter at hand," Miles broke in, "you said you wanted in on the plan to stop Kimblee. How are you planning to do that?"

"You have to remember, we have abilities that you don't," Roy answered. "Stronger, faster, won't be affected by a bite like you will. Though, if Kimblee gets pissed off enough and happens to catch one of you? He's not just going to give you a little nip on the neck and let you go."

He gave the same sternly serious look to Armstong, Miles, Scar, and Breda in turn. "If he gets hold of anyone in your group, you'll end up looking like a Central or East City murder scene."

No one moved or spoke for a long moment, each side evaluating the other. Finally, Scar glanced back to where the rest of the group waited and motioned them forward. "You have two minutes to state your case, and convince us, and then we begin setting up. With or without you."

It was Riza's turn to smile. She lifted one arm, moving to lean insolently against Roy's shoulder. "All right; listen closely."

By the time she had finished outlining how to fit two vampires into the spaces of a plan previously occupied by two humans, the sun was completely down, and the last vestiges of sunlight were fading from a twilight sky. The group entered their chosen arena for the final showdown with an enemy who was slowly approaching from the southwest.


	32. Declaration of Intent

_A/N: Hey, everyone, and Happy… Monday. Sorry for the delay; my in-laws were coming for dinner yesterday and I felt the need to clean obsessively, and a busy week beforehand didn't leave much time to write. But hey, there's a chapter for this week and we're soooooo close to the end! It's gonna be good, so stay tuned. Enjoy!  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

Chapter Thirty-two - Declaration of Intent

UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0117 HOURS, APRIL 30

The massive open space had all the earmarks of a cave: darkness that lay thickest in the deepest corners, a dankness in the air and faint, occasional dropping that bespoke some water source nearby, a faint green cast to the meagre light that evoked imagery of algae and bioluminescent plants.

Lying over it all was the musty scent of decay, an earthy kind of stink reminiscent of wet dead leaves and loam that clogged his sense of smell the moment he came through the doors.

Pausing just inside, letting his eyes adjust, Kimblee slowly scoured the room for any sign of habitation. He stood in a kind of foyer, with one set of double doors closed behind him, and another set ahead, open into the huge atrium beyond. He stepped forward, taking care to make no noise, and emerged into the wide open space.

A wide walkway ran the perimeter of the room, surrounding a long rectangular depression in the floor. Steps led down into the shallow space at several points, the surfaces of both the walkway and sunken area tiled in squares of flat grey stone the size of his palm. At several points around the outside of the walkway stood open-topped braziers filled with smooth, fist-sized rocks, a basin and ladle mounted to the wall beside each one. Overhead, a multi-paned skylight twenty feet wide rose into a majestic dome that filtered moonlight down to provide a ghostly, ethereal light.

 _Ah,_ he thought, beginning to recognize the layout. _A bathhouse. How archaically quaint…._

He moved forward to the edge of the walkway, looking down into the empty pool. Water had recently flowed over the slate tiles, judging from their slightly damp appearance. The pool had likely been drained sometime in the last day or so, otherwise the vast space would smell dusty and dry, just like everything else in this forsaken landscape.

"I would think," he said to the room at large, "that since the Flame Alchemist can no longer use alchemy, his fear of water would have evaporated."

"Who said I was afraid?"

A silhouetted figure slinked out of an open archway on the far side of the long atrium, likely one that led to a change room. White clothing seemed to glow in the dark, the shadows falling away as Roy Mustang stepped forward into the light, moving with the purposeful grace of a pacing wolf. Deeply purple eyes glinted with challenge behind the fringe of his bangs.

"Long time, no see, Kimblee. But not nearly long enough for my money."

"Mustang." He said the name with the cold contempt of nobleman addressing a leper. "Our dear Riza had finally deemed you fit enough to come out and play, has she?"

He sensed the anger rolling off the other man even at this thirty-foot distance, anger that Mustang swiftly brought back to heel, damping it like the coals of a fire. "If only so that she doesn't have to look at your despicable face herself," he answered, his own tone cooling considerably. "After all that you've put her through, it should be understandable why she wouldn't want to see you again."

He laughed, a short, sharp bark that reverberated from the walls. "Please, she saw me less than a week ago and showed no inclination then of running off voluntarily. Of wanting her personal space, certainly, but not outright avoiding me." He grinned, showing his teeth. "She wouldn't dare leave her sire. Not permanently."

Mustang folded his arms across his chest, standing with his feet planted in a stance of defiance. "She would if she herself was mistress to someone who outweighs you in importance," he shot back. "And even before she turned me, I was more important to her than you can ever hope to be."

"It isn't a question of importance." Taking a step forward, Kimblee watched the other man tense, anticipating the oncoming fight. "It's a question of mastery."

"Something of which neither of you has when it comes to your emotions."

She emerged from the same archway, her blonde hair and white _abaya_ ghostlike in the dimness. Where Mustang had moved with the wild intensity of a wolf, Hawkeye walked with the lithe, easy step of a panther. She slid a hand up his back to grasp his shoulder, her free hand rising to his chest as she stopped beside him, though her eyes remained fixed in Kimblee. "The first contact you have with your kind in days, and the first thing you do is get yourself baited into a dick-measuring contest? So much for a vampire's patience and self-control."

"You speak to me of self-control?" he countered. "When the two of you can hardly stand to keep your clothes on around each other for more than a few minutes at a time?" He eyed their pure white outfits critically. "And for the clothes themselves… was white _really_ the best choice you could make? Creatures of the night ought to blend in with their surroundings, not stand out like beacons."

"Just because we drink people's blood and are the embodiment of anti-death doesn't mean we need to dress like we're going to a funeral every day," Roy countered. He tugged at the front of his knee-length _dishdasha_ , the white fabric edged in gold embroidery. "And when a lady goes to the trouble of stealing me something so nice, it'd be a shame not to wear it."

"And when it gets covered in bloodstains from your prey?" Kimblee countered. "Or do you plan on stealing new wardrobe items whenever you need to?"

"Barring accidents, we eat far more neatly than you do," Riza answered, her voice carrying a note of distaste. "And we won't need to steal anything, before long. Everything we could want will brought to us in tribute when we claim dominion over the city."

Kimblee went still, his eyes narrowing as they rested on her utterly calm face. _Dominion… tribute…?_ Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. "Ah… so this is why you wanted to keep the citizenry as a sustainable food source. Why you wanted to grow your strength… why you've allowed me to come to you." His smile pulled his lips wide, the tips of his long canine teeth showing. "Your commander's ambition has rubbed off on you. It's not enough for you to merely stalk the nights of this city. You want to rule."

"Why not?" she countered, her right should shoulder rising and lowering in an insolent shrug. "It's ever so much easier to sustain yourself when you have servants to either bring the blood to you, or else just lie down and let you feed on them." She smirked. "No one refuses a queen."

He gave a soft snort. "I see. And in this delusion of grandeur, which of us is king? Mustang, or me?"

"Delusion or not, the answer remains the same." Rising slightly on her toes, she pressed a kiss to Mustang's jawline, then rested her head against his cheek as he turned a smug look on Kimblee. "He's always had the drive to assume leadership; all you've ever done is destroy. And I don't want half my subjects being vaporized before I even get a chance to call for my coronation."

"You're a loose cannon, Kimblee," Mustang said, with what was probably supposed to be an apologetic air. It sounded more… contemptuous. "There's no room in the new monarchy for someone like that; if the Queen dictates you're out, you'd best be out of the city by sunup."

Rage boiled in his stomach, working its way up his throat like bile. "You can't kick me out of this place," he growled, his vow low, and full of menace. "Without my influence, you'd still be living your boring, pathetic human lives, both of you. I made you the way you are, gave you strength, gave you power… and now you think you can turn aside from the destiny I created for you?"

He threw his head back and laughed, the eerie, madness-tinged sound reverberating from the tiled walls to ricochet around them. "Without me, you're nothing! I am the sire, and if anyone here is going to claim rule over these worthless sheep, it's me!"

Riza's voice was soft, but carried easily in the open space. "Big words for a prisoner."

It took him a heartbeat to realize what she had said, and another to formulate his question. But before he could do more than open his mouth, there was the sound of a door being flung wide behind him. The words 'what do you mean' died before they reached his lips, and he started to swivel toward the door.

At the same moment, both Mustang and Hawkeye streaked off in separate directions, elongating into bright white streaks to cover more ground. Kimblee whipped back around to them, looking first in Mustang's direction, then giving chase after Hawkeye. Whatever was happening, what trap they had so evidently sprung, she was his ultimate goal.

She materialized a few metres out from the far wall, turning to watch him speeding in her direction. He hadn't shifted into his long, ropy form, and he came at her with his hands outstretched, levelled at her neck. Her amethyst eyes were impassive, watching him close the distance, making no move to defend herself –

His hands hit some hard surface and his arms folded in toward his chest. Unable to slow his momentum, he cannoned face-first into an invisible wall, and rebounded to sprawl, stunned, on the damp tiles at the bottom of the empty bathing pool.

* * *

She watched with a sense of gratified smug superiority as Kimblee picked himself up from the bottom of the pool, spluttering in surprise and rising anger at the indignity of having been knocked flat on his ass by a wall he could not see. His purple eyes landed on her, narrowing at the brought smile on her face.

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing, echoing off the walls. He paced slowly across the tiles in her direction, ignoring Roy's quiet snickering behind him. "Tell me! I command it!"

"Feeling a little claustrophobic?" she taunted, not flinching as he approached, not backing down. "You shouldn't have to ask me what's going on. You've come up against a wall like this before." She reached out, tapping on the invisible barrier like a child with a fish tank. "And besides that… I'm not the one who actually did the trapping."

The scuff of a footstep on the tiles near the entrance brought Kimblee's head whipping around to glare at Scar, crouched low on the tiles in front of the final symbol he had just etched to seal it with Miles standing just behind him. The warrior glared right back, his right hand curling into a fist where it dangled from the arm resting across his leg.

Riza tapped the toes of her right foot beside the symbol nearest her, the mark only visible as a thin white scratch on the tile floor. "We had some concern whether or not you would notice the markings when you came in," she commented off-handedly. "If you had, our entire plan might have been derailed, so I appreciate you walking so willingly into your own downfall."

"Mine as well as your own," he snapped, turning back to her. "So this is your true plan, is it? A fool's errand if there ever was one. You know as well as I do that once I'm gone, your own powers will fade and you'll lose your abilities and vampire persona entirely."

Ah, the crux of the matter. This was the aspect of her personal plan that Riza had to play extremely carefully: hiding the fact that she and Roy had no intention of letting Kimblee be destroyed. They all wanted the old, boring Riza back, the one who loved her paperwork, her dog, her firearms, her boss… but unfortunately, that particular girl was gone, and her replacement was going to have a find a way to stick around. She and Roy had spoken with deliberate quiet when outlining their plan for dominance so that Scar and Miles, sneaking closer, wouldn't hear; hopefully, they hadn't.

"You win some, you lose some," she answered airily, as much to herself as to him.

Climbing to his feet, Scar glanced between the two vampires on his side of this little conflict. "That's the first circle. When should we close the second?"

"Not quite yet," Roy spoke up. "It's really just a backup in case he should break out of the first one, so if he starts showing signs of doing that, then go ahead." He stood with his hands in his pockets, regarding Kimblee with cool contempt. "Until then, let him stay in there and wait for sunrise."

"Sunrise?" Kimblee repeated, his face set in a suspicious glare.

"Sunrise," Roy confirmed, before pointing upward… the skylight directly over the centre of Kimblee's imprisoning circle. "That serves a double purpose. On the one hand, it brought light in so that anyone using the bathhouse wasn't doing so in total darkness. But on the other… it concentrates the sunlight so that it helped warm the water."

His eyes came back to Kimblee with fierce satisfaction. "Seeing as you can't run, or hide, you'll be incinerated like an ant under a magnifying glass."

Kimblee was still gazing upward at the object of his eventual destruction. "I see. You did this as a boy, I take it? Burned ants on the sidewalk for no other crime than carrying on with their nature?" A faint smile touched his lips. "Just as you would now burn me for following my nature. Rather hypocritical, isn't it? Given that you have the same nature yourself, now."

"Whether it's hypocritical or not is hardly up for debate," Riza cut in sharply. "I would think, given that you have only a few hours left on this earth, you'd like to spend it more productively than debating philosophy."

"Philosophy in itself is a worthwhile way to spend several hours," he countered, then shrugged, settling himself cross-legged directly under the skylight's apex. "But, have it your way."

Riza watched with barely concealed distaste as he closed his eyes, sitting straight with his hands in his lap, the very picture of peaceful meditation. She was aware of Roy glancing in her direction from across the circle, then beginning to move around the perimeter to where Scar and Miles stood, also watching. Pushing thoughts of the sire from her mind, she focussed instead on the rest of the plan, and started around the edge of the circle toward the others.

"We can recall the others from hiding, now, I think," Miles was saying as she arrived. "Now that we have him trapped, everyone should be on hand here in case something goes awry."

"Doesn't make much sense for them to be waiting about in the dark for someone who's already here," Roy agreed. "Go ahead and give the signal."

Miles moved back toward the open entrance of the bathhouse, stepping out onto the front stairs. Putting two fingers to his lips he gave two short, sharp, piercing whistles, and waited. Seconds later, there was an answering whistle, and he nodded in satisfaction. Neither he nor Scar showed any indication they knew what was really being planned… meaning the time was right to set it into action.

"In the meantime," Riza added, "perhaps we _should_ seal the second circle." She looked doubtfully from the inner set of symbols to the outer. "Call me crazy, but something about this doesn't feel near as safe as it should be. Maybe it's some kind of vampire sixth sense, but… there's _something_ about this that bothers me." She looked back to Scar. "I think I'd feel better if the second circle were sealed."

He watched her carefully, hesitating. "… You and the Colonel will be stuck inside if it is," he cautioned. "Is that something you want?"

She took a carefully choreographed deep breath, then nodded. "There's not much else for us to do. And if he _does_ break out of the first circle, we're here to take him down physically."

Roy glanced over at her. "Would you feel even better if we checked the symbols around the edge of the first circle? If this is a legitimate vampire sense, that something's wrong, could be that's the trouble."

"Yeah, all right."

The two of them circled off in opposite directions, walking slowly with their eyes on the ground, studying each holy glyph etched into the tiles… or at least, pretending to. Riza half-watched out of the corner of her eye as Scar crouched, scratching the last, sealing symbol into the outer circle with the point of a ceremonial stone knife. The thing was tiny in his huge hand, but a weapon nonetheless she would have to rid him of if they wanted to have any kind of chance.

Her gaze switched to Roy, directly across the circle from her, and caught his eye. She gave the smallest of nods.

"Wait, hang on a second," he called a moment later, coming to a stop with a frown. "This one might be it. Looks like the symbol's all there, but its on a rougher piece of stone and the knife might've skipped over some of the bumps. The circle works, but this section might be a little weaker." He looked up. "Miles?"

The Major crossed the invisible barrier of the outer circle, his unadulterated humanity allowing him to do so. Riza kept her own eyes on the ground, moving slowly until she was another five feet along before coming to a stop.

"I've got one over here, too," she called. "Same sort of deal. Scar, could you come take a look?"

He, took, crossed the barrier with no trouble, checking the outer glyphs as he came toward her, just in case. Riza indicated her suspect symbol with a pointed finger, stepping aside to allow him closer to it. "That one, there," she lied. "Just a rougher piece of shale that would have been more difficult for the knife to scratch."

He went to one knee for a closer look, careful to keep his head back from crossing the inner barrier. Red eyes searched the pale white lines for any discrepancy. "I don't see what you —"

Her weight landed across his back before the sentence could finish leaving his mouth, knocking him off-balance. Throwing his hands out to catch himself on the tiles, he didn't waste breath asking just what the hell she thought she was doing; he could tell. The cord around his neck was pulled upward, the pouch rising to press against the underside of his chin. He thought, for a moment, that she meant to strangle him with the thing… but then the charm was yanked from around his neck and went flying off into a dark corner of the room.

Scar pushed to his feet, the vampiress dangling from his shoulders like a small child wanting a piggyback ride, and practically ran backward, slamming her back-first against the invisible barrier.

Riza's breath left her in an angry hiss, the warrior's wide shoulder blades digging into her ribs, but she held on. If her vampiric strength couldn't help her win against this musclebound stoic, then what good was it? From across the room came the sounds of Roy engaged in his own struggle, but she ignored it. Her fight was here.

Wrapping her arms around Scar's neck, she dragged herself higher on his back, gasping a breath, gripping with her knees and using his own pressure against her to keep herself in place. Hooking one arm around his neck, she grasped her wrist with her free hand and squeezed, focussing on trying to compress the two arteries either side.

 _Bet Armstrong wishes he hadn't taught Riza all those holds when he finds out about this,_ she thought grimly, gritting her teeth as Scar's neck muscles tightened, trying to fight the sleeper hold. She retaliated, snugging her arm tighter around his neck. In a last-ditch effort, Scar abruptly pulled away from the wall, turned ninety degrees, and dropped flat to his back, trapping her beneath him.

The air rushed out of her lungs once again, but she kept her grip against the 200-plus pounds of muscle bearing down on her. Her lungs burned, her body needing air even at the reduced rate caused by the vampirism. She just had to stick it out a little longer… just a little longer….

Finally, she felt the great body go slack.

Riza gave it another thirty-count in her head to make sure he was well and truly out, then shoved him to the side and sprang up, ready to defend herself if he was playing possum and came after her. Scar lay still, breathing shallowly, but clearly unconscious. With a hunter's pride in victory swelling her chest, Riza turned to where Roy was just stepping back from where Miles lay limply on the ground, his hands raised in a boxer's stance.

"Is he out?"

The former alchemist looked up, flashing a triumphant grin. "I clocked him on the jaw and he went down like a sack of bricks," he reported. "I'd call this half of things a success."

Kimblee had opened his eyes when the scuffling began, and now sat watching the two of them with curiosity, his head moving back and forth. "Just what are you two up to?"

"Nothing that'll work if you don't keep your trap shut," Riza snapped. "Just sit there and don't move, will you? We're trying to figure this so that all of us might survive tonight, so just let us work!"

Bending, she caught hold of one of Scar's thick wrists, beginning the arduous task of dragging him to the far side of the circle, away from where the rest of the vampire-hunting crew would be coming through the entrance. Her sharp hearing began to pick up faint sounds of conversation, the occasional sand-shuffling footstep, and she redoubled her efforts.

When the group came through the front entrance two minutes later, she and Roy were standing over the two unconscious Ishvalan men, both of them bound with their own waist sashes, ready and waiting.

* * *

ABANDONED BATHHOUSE, JADAD, ISVHAL  
0158 HOURS, APRIL 30

Rebecca hesitated on coming through the doorway, stopping just at the edge of the second circle of markings. In the centre, looking calm and unearthly as he sat bathed in a shaft of moonlight, was Kimblee… though a very different Kimblee than her own faint memory. He was ghastly pale, the effect strengthened by his dark suit and hair, his long, white fingers folded meditatively in his lap. His eyes watched her with bland disinterest, as though she were nothing more than a pigeon crossing his path.

Behind him, slumped together in a two-person pile of apparent unconsciousness, were Scar and Miles. Her heart jumped in alarm at the thought that Kimblee must have gotten to them before he had been contained… and then she saw Mustang and Riza.

The Colonel was standing with his arms folded and legs spread, watching the group enter with all the solemn menace of a bouncer at a nightclub. His eyes shone a faint, dark purple in the reflected moonlight behind the half-curtain of his bangs, and he stood with an impossibly perfect stillness that betrayed his current preternatural state.

But it was Riza that made her shiver.

She stood with her hands folded demurely in front of her, watching the group enter with quiet aloofness; a royal duchess watching her guests enter for a party. Glacially calm, she glanced from one to the next with only the motion of her eyes, not turning her head in the slightest, not acknowledging the two men at her feet, her superior in the place of deference behind her left shoulder, or the vampire imprisoned before her.

Rebecca swallowed hard as those cold amethyst eyes landed on her, feeling a chill start to spread outward from the pit of her stomach as Riza smiled. In all the years she had known the other woman, a full smile had been rare, and a smile that showed teeth had happened maybe twice. Now, for the first time, she wished her friend — or the thing that occupied her friend's body — would never smile again. She simply didn't want to see those teeth.

"Welcome back," the female vampire — Hawkeye, Rebecca corrected in her head — purred. She raised one hand, gesturing to her prisoner. "I'm sure you all remember this face. Former State alchemist and federal prisoner Solf J. Kimblee, current vampire sire." She smiled again, and Rebecca fought the urge to shiver again. "Even more current prisoner."

"So the plan worked," Breda commented, though Rebecca could hear the note of trepidation in his voice. "Good. What happened to Scar and Miles? Did he —"

"Oh, no. Not at all." Folding her hands again, she gave him a knowing smirk. "They're merely necessary for the next stage of the plan, and we needed some way to keep them under our thumb until that part was over."

"Wasn't the next stage of the plan to wait for daylight to weaken Kimblee enough that we could… remove him?" Falman asked, more than a little hesitantly.

"That was _your_ plan," Hawkeye corrected, sounding for all the world like a schoolteacher lecturing a particularly dense pupil. "My plan was to trap Kimblee here and then simply leave him trapped so that I can carry on in the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed."

"Your plan?" Mustang echoed, sounding slightly reproving.

"Oh, sorry, love." Turning, she reached back and patted him on the arm. " _Our_ plan, not just mine. And so that we can carry on _our_ lifestyle. I'm sorry, I just got caught up in the thrill of the moment."

"Wait, what did she call him?" Fuery whispered, sounding vaguely scandalized.

"Forget that," Rebecca muttered back. "What the hell is she talking about? 'Their plan?'"

Hawkeye's head whipped back around at that, and she stood still a moment, like a spooked deer listening for further sound. When no one spoke, she turned fully to face the group. "I'm sorry, this must be so confusing for all of you," she said, her tone conveying no trace of true apology. "Listen, I know this is probably going to throw a wrench into things, but… the plan you all thought we were following has changed."

"Changed how?" Armstrong asked, his blue eyes wary and suspicious above his moustache.

"Changed in that instead of destroying Kimblee to free us from the so-called 'vampire curse,'" Mustang chimed in, "we'll instead be shutting him away in some dark little corner and keeping our vampire forms."

"You know how sometimes, people go on vacation to a new place, and they find they really like it, so they buy a summer house? That's kind of like what this is," Hawkeye explained. "We've decided we really like having control over human bodies, despite the whole 'can't be in daylight' and 'have to drink blood' parts. And, just like any other sentient creature…" Her eyes hardened. "We'll fight to stay alive."

"You can't do that," Rebecca burst out, immediately regretting the probably futile words. "You stole those bodies; you don't get a say in whether you get to stay in them or not."

The blonde woman snorted derisively. "What, and you do? Listen, sister, the only two people who could possibly stand a chance at knocking me out of control of this body are right here." She placed a foot on Scar's shoulder where he lay, just beginning to stir, on the ground in front of her. "And they're a little… tied up, at the moment."

Red eyes cracked open, the scarred man visibly testing his bonds as he lay on his side, glancing at the group standing several feet away, the vampire still imprisoned in the centre of the room, and finally at the one looming over him. "…What have you done, witch?" he growled, rolling onto his back to see her more clearly.

"Vampire," she corrected, almost off-handedly "And the only thing I've done is ensure my own safety. Riza remembers you being something of a spectacle with those arms of yours, and while I doubt you'd go so far as to explode my — and by extension, her — head, you could very likely still cause some damage." Bending, she patted his cheek with a beatific smile. "Now, just lie still, and I won't have to choke you out again. Fair?"

She didn't wait for an answer, standing straight. "The rest of you, if you would be so kind as to separate out of that little knot you've got yourselves in, and stand at least four feet apart around the room." When nobody moved, her calm expression dissolved into a fang-baring snarl. "I said _move_."

Slowly, carefully, the five remaining members of the vampire hunting team began to spread out along the front wall of the atrium, no one taking their eyes off of Hawkeye or Mustang. The two of them were as alert as a pair of guard dogs, and probably twice as bloodthirsty, given the chance.

 _Literally bloodthirsty,_ Rebecca thought, suppressing another shudder. _Best that we play along for now, and look for an opening later._

"Just what are you hoping to accomplish here?" Armstrong asked, his rumbling bass voice echoing off the tiled walls. Hawkeye's eyes shot in his direction, and her lips curved, but he kept speaking. "Are you hoping to take on all of us? Restrain us like you have Scar and Miles? Or something more… permanent?"

Her earlier ire was gone now, replaced with a look of motherly fondness so sickly sweet that it had to be fake. "Oh, Alex, you don't need to worry," she soothed. "We're not going to harm so much as a hair on any of you… unless you give us reason to. And in that case, I think it'd be fair to call it self-defense, don't you?

"As for what we're planning — Miles, please stop squirming, it's distracting." At her feet, Miles, who had been shifting slightly as he regained consciousness, went extremely still as Mustang leaned warningly over him, holding a finger to his lips for quiet. "As for what we're planning, it's all very simple. I'm hoping that in as little as two days from now, we will have secured our rule over this city, its citizens, and any other refugees that arrive looking to find shelter here."

"Your plan… is to declare yourself ruler over the Ishvalan remnant?" Falman clarified, sounding stunned.

"They'll never go for it," Breda added, frowning deeply. "Even if you weren't trying to take over by force, you're still outsiders. They'd never accept you as a leader even if you were human."

"Who said anything about force?" Mustang said casually. "The only force we've used in this takeover so far is to subdue two people who stood the most likely chance of stopping us before we began. Now that the path is relatively clear, however…." He stepped forward, sliding one arm possessively around Hawkeye's waist, sending a smirk to his shocked former subordinates. "We'll be approaching the Ishvalan leadership tomorrow night to inform them of the change in hierarchy."

Shaking his head, all Fuery could manage was a baffled-sounding "Why?!"

"It's case of symbiosis," the vampire explained patiently. "We need blood on a regular basis in order to thrive. The Ishvalans need someone to rule to guide them through the reconstruction and into the future where they can also thrive. So, in equivalent exchange, they will provide us with blood — which we will take very carefully so as not to turn or kill anyone — and we will promise to be good, benevolent rulers and help them grow back into the prosperous nation they were before the civil war." He grinned. "Everybody wins."

"You think you can just unilaterally declare yourself King and Queen of the Ishvalan people?" Miles snapped from his place on the floor. "Even before your country annexed ours, we never had royalty."

"Yeah, well, you do now," Hawkeye retaliated calmly. Her eyes turned to the row of people in front of her. "Now, what do you do when you're before the Queen?"

For several long, terrible seconds of dead silence, no one moved. Rebecca could feel her heart pounding in her throat, partly out of fear, but mostly out of shock. Things had gone so drastically sideways in such a short amount of time. _We never should have agreed to work with them_ , she thought bleakly. _We thought that we could handle any hidden agenda they might have… but I guess we were wrong…._

The battle on the Promised Day seemed small and insignificant in the face of this personal battle of wills. It went against everything she felt to submit to these two strange creatures… but defiance would only earn her injuries or worse. This was not a situation Rebecca Catalina, firearms specialist, could fight her way out of with a gun. Armstrong's muscles might help, but he wouldn't be able to bring himself to fight two former friends. Falman's memory, Breda's brains, Fuery's technological know-how…. All of it was useless in this moment. They would have to bide their time, wait for an opening. And to get a chance at that opening….

What did one do when they were before the Queen? They bowed.

Rebecca sank slowly, cautiously to one knee, her gaze on the tiled floor in front of her. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the others' heads turn to stare… before they reluctantly did the same.

When she looked up, the smile on the vampiress's face confirmed a dread fear: the Riza she knew had no say in this. Her friend was terribly, conspicuously absent.


	33. Queen, Subdued

_A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Well, it took five weeks, but I finally managed to update. For those of you who didn't get to see my reasons in the explanation post I made, it's been kind of a rough month. First, I lost my beloved pet cat, so didn't much feel like writing. Then I came down with a stomach bug, and just as I was starting to shake that, a cold. I was finally on the mend this week, so it was back to writing! I'm so very sorry this has taken so long, but I appreciate everyone's patience, and the kind words of encouragement. You're all incredibly sweet, and I feel so very loved. On we go!  
_

 _I do not own FMA._

 **Chapter Thirty-three - Queen, Subdued**

ABANDONED BATHHOUSE, JADAD, ISHVAL  
0543 HOURS, APRIL 30

Rebecca knew she wasn't going to make it out of this place without a cold, much less her life. For three hours now, she and the others had been forced to remain in this damp, chilly corner of the former bathhouse, crouched on the still-damp tiles and imprisoned by the bars Armstrong had been made to alchemise from the floor.

She shivered, snugging her arms tighter around her chest and glaring at the three vampires in the centre of the room. "There's got to be some way out of this," she grumbled, gritting her teeth so that they wouldn't chatter. "Some way to break out, to change them back, to take them down…. Just… something."

"We're open to suggestions," Fuery muttered back. His gaze travelled upward, to where the skylight stood, covered now on the outside in a solid layer of sandy muck. "The sunlight option is out, since they made us cover the biggest window in the place. What else are they susceptible to?"

"Not much," Miles said, his face grim. "We could try burning them out into daylight, if we could get a fire going. Or if we could get our protection charms back —" He pointed to the forlorn looking little pile of pouches discarded against another wall that the vampires have confiscated. "— we could try and loop them around their necks."

"It would be more effective to make them swallow them," Scar said darkly. His red eyes never left the trio of villains, narrowed into dangerous slits.

"Or, hear me out, we could try and play them at their own game," Breda said, so quietly, they almost didn't hear him. Sitting farthest back, right in the corner, he made sure to keep his voice down so that he wouldn't be overheard. As the others turned to look his way, he leaned forward. "Listen carefully…."

As Scar listened, he glanced back over her shoulder to where the vampires were talking quietly amongst themselves… and wondered how it had ever come to this.

* * *

FOUR HOURS EARLIER

Breda was the last to kneel. He stood tall, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You're forgetting something," he said boldly, his voice clear in the echoing space. "You're still trapped in that circle. You talk about going to the Ishvalan leadership, of declaring yourselves rulers — what makes you think you're going anywhere?"

He had a good vantage point from where he stood, able to see at least a third of the circle. From as far as he could tell, all the runes were intact; the circle should be unbreakable. In fact, he was sure it was; they hadn't made a move to leave it before now, even requesting to be sealed in… but perhaps only to put the humans at ease, to make them believe they were safe.

That thought caused a sinking feeling in his chest, one that only worsened as Hawkeye smiled slyly, beginning to move around the edge of the circle, toward the left wall of the atrium. "We had to leave ourselves a back door, so to speak. What if there was a fire, or we needed to use the bathroom? We'd have to get out somehow."

She slid effortlessly down the sloped side of the empty bathing pool, going to the middle and stopping before it began sloping upward again. Bending, she worked her fingernails under the edge of a tile marked with the rune for 'mercy' and flipped it out of its place in the grouting. Getting gracefully to her feet, she took a lithe step forward… out of the inscribed circle. She paused only for the briefest of dazzling smiles… and then lunged forward, her white streak of a form curling snakelike around young Fuery's body. She rematerialized, whipping the man's charm from around his neck, throwing it aside, and wrapping an arm across his throat before the rest of them could so much as gasp.

"Now, then," she purred, her lips — and fangs — mere inches from his neck. "If we're to move forward and get things ready for our coup and coronation, we're going to have to have a little cooperation here." The fingers of her free hand fisted in the back of Fuery's shirt as he tried to wrench away. "Ah ah, don't fight it, sweetheart, you'll just hurt yourself. As for the rest of you…." Her purple eyes gleamed menacingly. "Take care of the chores I have for you, and dear Fuery here will live to see his beloved superiors crowned. Fair?

Her eyes went to Breda, still on his feet, the others crouched low and in shock around him. "Well? What's it going to be, big man?" She grinned. "Fight, and I bite. Or, yield and kneel?"

For a long moment, he stood straight and stiff, hating the powerless position he found himself in. To take one of her own subordinates hostage, to use him as a bargaining chip to get her way…. He had to remind himself that this was not Riza Hawkeye that he faced; this was something far more ruthless and unforgiving than he had ever faced… including himself.

Slowly, reluctantly, he knelt.

* * *

CURRENT TIME

"If I remember Miles' description of this building correctly," Breda murmured, "the other side of this wall should be changing rooms. If one of us can slip through a hole into there, they can sneak out and around to the broken part of the circle and re-seal them inside it."

"It's true," Falman said, looking back over his shoulder. "They're both speaking with Kimblee at the moment, inside the circle's bounds. If we could trap even one of them inside, it'd even the odds a bit more."

"How do we break through?" Rebecca asked, eyeing the stone blocks of the wall. "These look pretty solid, and doesn't alchemy make a sound when you use it? Not to mention the light given off by a transmutation."

"Alchemy does," Scar said, catching on to Breda's plan. "But my arm of destruction makes no light and very little sound. Even less, if I were to be careful. I could slowly and completely destroy the block before they noticed, and allow someone to slip through… though it would be a tight fit."

"Me," Fuery said, sounding surprised, but game. "I'm the smallest person here; it has to be me."

Breda nodded, watching his comrade with grim determination. "You've already been through some pretty stressful stuff tonight, being held hostage while we covered up the skylight and confiscated the charms," he said. "No one here will blame you if you don't want to put yourself at risk like this."

"I'd blame myself," the young man said firmly. "That's our superiors over there, taken over by things we barely understand. If I don't try to help them, regardless of the danger, just what has the Colonel spent the last several years working with us for?" He smiled. "He would be disappointed in me, if he were himself."

"Okay." Putting a hand on the young man's shoulder, he gave it a friendly, reassuring shake. "Try to find a way out and smash the skylight; when you do, we'll bust out as a group and help trap them in the circle again."

Trying to move as quietly as possible, the group rearranged themselves, Scar sitting to one side of the block chosen for destruction, with Armstrong's bulk between it and their captors. Breda waited until he was sure their shuffling hadn't been noticed, before giving the Ishvalan warrior a small nod.

Reaching down, Scar pressed the fingers of his right hand to the damp stone, feeling the energy in the tattoos of his arm building up, ready to seep into the porous rock. He had to be careful here; too much energy at once would certainly do the job, but the sound of the crumbling block would almost certainly alert the vampires to their improvised plan. This wasn't the brute force of attacking human enemies; this required finesse.

He released the energy, just a trickle, and felt the first chunk of stone crack and separate from the main block. He moved his hand just in time to catch the piece before it could audibly hit the floor. An adjustment would have to be made. Shifting, he positioned the edge of his robe under the new gap in the stone, and settled back to work.

* * *

"Look, we realize that if you're going to have to be imprisoned for the next however many years — decades, probably — that you should have a say in your stay," Riza said, her arms folded as she tried to reason with the annoyed sire inside the circle. "We're inhuman, not inhumane. You should be comfortable."

"Think of it as putting an aging relative in a nursing home," Roy muttered beside her, unable to fully smother the satisfied grin the thought elicited in him. "You'll be well taken care of, we assure you."

"You can take your assurances and shove them down your throat," Kimblee shot back irritably. "I hope you choke on them."

Riza reached out, touching the back of her hand to Roy's chest to stave off his inevitable snapped remark, then spoke herself. "You'll come around in time." She turned to her partner. "Now, the sun will be up in less than an hour; I'm going to work on security arrangements for our announcement to the Ishvalan leaders. It'll be no fun if we get there and then lose half the night fighting. After that, I'm going to get some rest. I suggest you do the same."

Roy grinned. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

"I could be," she teased, returning the smile.

"I'd rather you kill me outright than have to listen to this drivel," Kimblee muttered, not bothering to try and speak sotto voce.

Still smiling, Riza turned away from the circle to head back into the little lair she and Roy had fashioned from one of the changing rooms… and stopped as movement caught her eye. In the far corner, the little knot of their prisoners were sitting together, some talking quietly, others simply watching. And in the open archway of the change room nearest them, a shadowed shape moved.

Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness and meant to see in dim conditions, instantly picked out Fuery's pale, wide-eyed face as he froze, clearly caught trying to sneak across the changing room interior.

"Seems like one of our little pets has gotten out of his cage," she said softly, taking a gliding step toward him. Behind her, she caught the sound of movement as Roy's head turned to look. Her eyes darted from Fuery to the stone bars alchemised from the floor and back again; the gaps were too narrow for him to have squeezed out, so how…? "I don't know how he managed it… but I suppose we'll have to escort him back to his friends."

The young man stepped forward, standing straight in what, admittedly, was a brave posture. "You were my friend once, too, you know. Friends don't trap friends in abandoned buildings and try to take over other friends' —" He nodded toward Scar and Miles. "— civilizations."

Riza sighed. "Listen, kid, my host might have been your friend, but I'm not. When are you going to get that through your head? The saying is cliché, but… I didn't come here to make friends." She took another step toward him. "I came here to rule, not —"

Fuery glanced once at the others behind the bars, then rushed headlong at his former Lieutenant. Before she could finish her sentence, he lowered one shoulder and rammed full force into her torso, driving her back. The pair of them cannoned into the invisible wall of the inner circle, falling to the floor together.

With an animalistic snarl, Roy lunged forward, knocking Fuery away from Riza and onto his back on the floor. Pinning the Master Sergeant by way of a forearm across his clavicle, he bared his teeth, ready to sink them into the vulnerable neck.

From across the room came several loud cracks, and the sound of stone falling on stone as Scar swiped at the bars with his right arm, shattering the makeshift prison. Together, he and Armstrong stepped forward into the room.

"Release the Master Sergeant," Armstrong rumbled, his blue eyes hard and hands curled into fists.

Roy grinned. "Make me."

The smile dropped away from his face as the others stepped up behind the two men, all looking grim, determined, or both. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed to his feet, leaving Fuery on the ground. "Guys, you've got to ask yourselves: is a bum rush on a vampire really a good idea?" His teeth gleamed as he spoke, the points of his fangs visible. "In all the confusion… somebody could get bitten."

"Shouldn't matter," Miles returned coolly. "Since neither of you is leaving this place with that curse intact." His eyes went past Roy to where Kimblee stood watching from inside the inner circle. "We'll make sure of that."

Climbing to her feet, Riza shot him a withering look. "And how are you planning to do that? You're more likely to get torn to shreds than bring him down; his murder victims prove that."

"They were unsuspecting, or incapacitated," Breda pointed out, his voice cold. "We're not."

Four of them started forward, Falman, Armstrong, Rebecca, and Breda advancing with deliberate steps. Fuery climbed to his feet, taking a step back to re-gather his courage as the others took over. Riza braced both hands on the invisible wall of the inner circle, taking several deep breaths to prepare herself for the fight to come….

"Let me out," a voice hissed behind her. Kimblee, standing close by the wall, tense as a coiled spring, waiting for release. "Let me out, and I'll deal with them. They don't stand a chance against me."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You're staying put; if I let you out, how am I supposed to get you back in there?"

His return comment of "That's the idea" was drowned out as she dodged the first punch from her former best friend. It was evident in Rebecca's expression that she regretted having to fight this thing with Riza's face, but she swung gamely, trying to connect. Military training kept her in the fight; reflexes kept Riza from taking a fist to the nose as she either dodged or blocked. She was vaguely aware of the sound of more cracking and falling stone, but ignored it, focussed instead on the fight as Falman joined in the fray.

With two on one, to go on the offensive, she would have to quit playing by the rules. Blocking a hit from Falman aimed at her ribs, she took a step forward past the blow Rebecca had aimed at her cheek, and stomped her foot down on the other woman's. Rebecca gasped, her guard dropping for an instant… but it was long enough. Riza's hand snaked out, wrapping around her throat and turning on the spot, she dragged Rebecca to stand as a human shield between her and Falman.

Beside her, Roy was hard pressed by both Armstrong and Breda. The latter wasn't much of a fighter, but knew how to throw a punch, just not as well as his counterpart. Roy was ignoring Breda entirely, focussing his attention on blocking Armstrong's strikes and trying to find a way past his defense.

Riza grinned, putting her face close to Rebecca's as the other woman tugged ineffectually at her hand, trying to dislodge its grip on her windpipe. "You would have been fine, you know," she said quietly. "We would have let you live. But you couldn't just sit quietly and wait for us to finish our business." As Falman came around the side, intent on getting to her, Riza planted her free hand on his chest and shoved him away; he stumbled backward, and fell to the floor. "So now, instead of remaining as a subject… you are the first instance of resistance we'll have to remove."

A new sound came over the noise of fighting; the muffled shatter of glass. A lot of glass.

She looked up, the air filling with swirling, glittering motes of sand and vaporized glass, to where Scar stood silhouetted against the lightening sky of dawn, the fingers of his right hand still splayed in the air where the skylight had been. Red eyes glared down at her, the lack of emotion turning the expression dangerous.

Dropping her hold on Rebecca's throat, she turned, intent on sprinting for the shadow of the changing rooms… and stopped as she almost collided with a kneeling Miles. He looked up, the stubby ceremonial knife in his hand… and a rune etched into the grouting where she had removed the tile earlier.

"Everyone back!" he shouted, not moving from his position.

Falman grabbed Rebecca by the arm, towing her outside the circle as she coughed, her breath returning. Armstrong leapt back several feet, Breda close behind him. Teeth bared, Roy tried to follow, ramming shoulder first into a new invisible wall.

Her hands in fists at her sides, Riza gave the Ishvalan soldier an acidic look. "This is a temporary measure," she spat. "You think we can't find another loose tile you've written on? As soon as we break a single rune, the circle will be nulled again, and then…. Then, we'll finish it."

Climbing to his feet, Miles stared her down across the barrier. "Try," he invited darkly. "See how far you get. But can you make it before there's too much light?" He pointed upward. "The sun is rising, vampire. Your time is short."

Gritting her teeth, Riza glanced over her shoulder. Roy was already prowling the perimeter, his eyes on the ground as he searched for loose tiles. Granted, they could always loosen one themselves, but that would take time. Time they didn't have, and time that would almost certainly be interrupted by the humans. One would have to work at loosening it while the other ran interference. And she was already beginning to feel the depletion of energy after the fight —

No… not from the fight.

She looked up again, Scar still visible on the rim of the shattered skylight, standing tall and staring off to the east. Already, she could see the pink glow beginning to play over his white hair, could see the slowly growing brightness spreading across the sky. She stood there, simply staring, knowing that there was no way out of the circle, no way that she could avoid the hated sunlight, no way she could get at the humans and vent her rage unless they stepped inside the circle….

* * *

What happened next, Miles could only describe later as 'she went crazy.'

One moment, the vampire was standing perfectly still, her head tilted back as she gazed up through the void in the ceiling to the sky, her hands at her sides, and her expression composed.

And in the next instant, her face contorted with the most primal rage he had ever witnessed… and she screamed. On some levels, it was a frustrated child, unable to express their feelings through the words of a limited vocabulary. On so many others, however, it was a trapped and furious animal, railing against the bars and the injustices heaped upon it.

It wasn't a short scream, either. She had taken a deep breath prior to the outburst, and used that to make it last for nearly a full minute. The sound echoed off the tiled walls, ricocheting around the space over and over again. Everyone covered their ears, some squeezing their eyes shut as if to escape that way.

Still screaming, she launched herself into a pale streak of motion, her elongated rapid-travel form bouncing from wall to wall of her prison. The scream died out, but the blur remained, spinning ever faster around the circle. Mustang stood with his back pressed against the inner wall, his eyes the only part of him that moved as he tried to watch what was happening. He recognized the desperation of their situation, certainly, but he reacted with far less fury than Hawkeye.

Kimblee, for his part, looked on almost boredly as the vampiress vented her spleen. Scar watched from the lip of the broken skylight, blank-faced but alert to any danger. When Miles glanced back over his shoulder to check on the others, he found them staring dumbfounded at the spectacle.

Finally, after nearly three minutes of continuous tearing around the outer circle, Hawkeye came to a sudden stop. She stood with her head bowed, her chest heaving with lost breath, her long hair falling around her face like a curtain. She trembled visibly all over, her hands fixed in tight, white-knuckled fists.

Coming up beside him, Armstrong placed three retrieved protection charms into his hand. "Best do it now," he murmured, his eyes steady on the vampires. "One for you, one for each of them. Hawkeye first; the Colonel is more likely to come quietly if she's already taken care of."

Nodding acknowledgement, Miles slipped the first charm over his head and stepped forward. Mustang's eyes instantly shot in his direction, his body tensing… but he stayed put. Miles gave him a warning look anyway, just as he stepped cautiously across the barrier, stopping in front of Hawkeye's unnaturally still form.

He held the cord of the second charm ready, closing the few feet between them. She lifted her head at his approach, her eyes still angry… but with the majority of the fight gone out of her. Miles stopped, watching her closely for a reaction.

Her smile didn't have as much strength. "If I weren't so tired," she said slowly, "I'd rip that ridiculous thing off your neck and treat myself to breakfast." She looked up. "I'd be having it al fresco, apparently. How luxurious."

Without answering, he reached forward, slipping the cord over her head. Just before he pulled his hands back, she made a nipping motion at the inside of his wrist, causing him to jerk back in alarm. The pouch thudded against her chest, and she grimaced, one hand reaching up to plug her nose.

"Take it easy," she scolded, sounded more exhausted by the second. "Can't a girl have a little fun?"

Mustang was approaching slowly from behind her, and as she swayed drunkenly from the charm beginning to take effect, he caught her around the shoulders, easing down to sit with her head pillowed in his lap. He tensed visibly, jaws clenching as his nose detected the vile smell no one else could sense.

Miles, feeling uneasy with the anticlimactic delivery of the first charm, stepped back outside the circle to wait.

* * *

Silence fell over the damp room. Hawkeye lay quietly with her eyes closed, twitching every so often as she forced back the urge to gag in reaction to the charm around her neck. Mustang seemed to be going through the same reaction, his already pale face taking on a greenish tinge.

Miles edged up to the barrier, watching closely. When the change came, it was far less violent than last time, perhaps because this time, she expected it. She took a careful deep breath, her hands pressing flat to the floor in evident dizziness. Mustang was murmuring quietly, soothingly, his fingers trailing slow, gentle over her hair.

Her body relaxed, sinking farther back against the stone and Mustang's lap. Her chin lifted, and she took a deep breath… and her eyes, when they opened, were her normal clear, whisky-brown. Her lips parted, taking in a second deep breath, her colour showing the first signs of returning to mingle with the faint hint of green around her mouth.

"Ohhhhh…" she groaned, one hand lifting to her forehead. "That… does not get any more pleasant…."

She sat up slowly, then froze, her shoulders hitching in one last gag before she swallowed hard and huffed out a breath. "Sorry," she murmured. "I just need a moment; it'll fade."

Miles stepped forward, holding up the third and final charm. "Colonel? Your turn, sir. This isn't you, and you know it."

For a moment, Mustang backed away along the floor, his lip curling to show his pointed teeth. His shoulders lifted, hands at the ready to fend off whoever came at him with the hated object. His gaze went from Miles to Riza… and he hesitated. She was looking back over her shoulder, brown eyes glaring. Threatening.

"Take it," she warned, her voice low. "Take it, or so help me, I'll put it around your neck myself."

Mustang swallowed hard, visibly intimidated — she was the one who had turned him, it was only natural he should follow her orders — and then, reluctantly, slowly abandoned his tense posture, allowing Miles to approach slowly, carefully. Though to say he did so without glowering venomously the entire time would be a lie.

She watched his humanity return without the dramatic side effects she had experienced the first time, though not without the nausea and dizziness. Roy dropped to his knees, hands braced on the floor as he retched, and Riza had to look away so that the sight wouldn't trigger her own vomiting. The process of returning humanity became a little easier the second time around, but not by much.

Finally, she heard him take a shaky break and then spit, followed by a muffled curseword as he wiped a sleeve across his mouth, and knew the worst was over.

Getting to her feet, she turned to where Rebecca stood a few metres away, watching with one hand to the reddened flesh of her throat. Guilt slammed into her chest, restricting her breathing for a moment. Those large, dark eyes watched her with a mixture of worry and suspicion. "Becca… I'm so sorry. I wasn't —" She stopped, frowning. "It's a terrible excuse, but I wasn't myself. Are you all right?"

With a roll of her eyes, the other woman stepped forward, crossing the barrier to enfold her friend in a hug. "You're crazy," she said, quietly. "But you're my crazy. I'm okay; it didn't go on for long enough to do any real damage." She leaned back, levelling a finger at Riza's nose. "But do that again, and I'm going to shoot you in the foot. Got it?"

Riza broke into a smile. "Loud and clear." Disengaging herself, she turned to where Breda was helping a still-shaky Roy to his feet. "Sir?"

Roy's shoulders hitched as he swallowed one last gag, one hand on Breda's shoulder for balance, though the red-headed man looked ready to bolt if anything aside from words or breath came out of his commander's mouth. "Yeah," he said at last, voice rough. "I'm okay. I'm good." He looked around the room at the solemn faces, the destroyed stone bars of the former 'cell,' and the hole Scar had created in the wall. "I think we can safely say this is one of the more eventful mornings we've had in a while."

"Certainly one of the more dramatic ones."

Both restored officers turned to see Kimblee, sitting in the centre of the shaft of slowly strengthening light, looking wan and tired… but his purple eyes were alight with annoyance and hatred. "I've been told I'm overdramatic when it comes to explosions and the beauty they create… but it's nothing compared to the two of you and your emotional melodrama." He waved a dismissive hand. "Just profess your undying devotion or what have you, and then get out of here and leave me in peace."

"More like 'in pieces,' with the sun coming up," Fuery ventured. "Within the next hour, you'll hardly be able to move. By noon, you'll be drained completely."

"Not to mention that you're imprisoned there for the foreseeable future," Falman added. "You'll experience the same, day after day, and not be able to escape and feed at night." He looked to Roy and Riza. "How long does a vampire survive without blood?"

The two of them exchanged a look, before Roy spoke. "Well, we never really put it to the test. It would be my guess, however, that if a vampire were to go without blood, it would eventually slip into the trance state that passes for sleep and just… stay that way. At least until some source of blood was given to it."

"However, I doubt we'll be testing that theory," Riza added firmly. "Kimblee retreating to what essentially amounts to a coma will not cure me of the vampirism, nor the Colonel. And I certainly don't want to be wearing this —" She plucked at the charm around her neck. "— for the rest of my life."

Scar spoke up from his bird's-eye view on the rim of the skylight. "Kimblee is as helpless as he's likely to be for the time being. Killing him now would be to do it in cold blood," he pointed out. He waited until both Colonel and Lieutenant were looking up at him before adding, "That mode of destruction is no stranger to me," he said, quietly. "If you want to spare the blood from your hands, I will do it for you."

Silence fell over the atrium, all eyes turning once again to the two suppressed vampires. Roy was the first to speak, murmuring, "It's your call, Hawkeye. You were the first one turned, so you get the final say."

Desire for satisfaction burned in Riza's chest, tightening the muscles and constricting her breath. She wanted nothing more than to take Kimblee's head off, to end the influence he had held over her life for close to a month…. She wanted it to be her own hands, her own actions that ended him, that removed him from this world once and for all. She wanted righteous retribution —

 _No,_ she told herself, scoldingly. _Call it what it is. You want revenge._

Turning her face back to the broken skylight, she nodded firmly. "Since you offered, thank you. I'm already sullied enough from all of this. Committing a vengeful murder will only add to that." Her eyes dropped back to Kimblee. "And for what he did in the war, you have more of a right to end him than I do."

Scar nodded in acknowledgement, and dropped from the roof to the floor below, landing in a crouch a few metres away from the slowly weakening vampire. "I don't take the same satisfaction in killing State alchemists that I used to," he said calmly. "I no longer seek vengeance. This… this will be a righteous death."

Kimblee rolled his eyes. "More dramatics," he muttered. Getting slowly to his feet, he faced his would-be executioner, hands folded behind his back. "Well, then, no sense in dragging it out. Let's have it."

There was a moment's hesitation as Scar weighed the vampire's words and body language. Clearly, Kimblee felt he still had at least a chance at the upper hand… but it was difficult to see where. The sunlight was weakening him as it strengthened, he hadn't fed in at least twenty-four hours, and he was trapped by a rune circle. Scar was not affected by the light, had had at least a little rest, and could leave the circle any time he chose…. Still, caution was dictated by Kimblee's presence alone.

Caution was not enough.

The moment Scar put a foot toward the former State alchemist, Kimblee launched himself forward. He cannoned into the Ishvalan man, knocking him back a step before seizing him by the arm and turning on the spot, using the momentum and Scar's own weight against him to fling him from the inner circle.

Scar caught his balance just outside the second circle, steadying himself as Kimblee resumed his former casual stance. "It would seem," the vampire said coolly, "that your fears of murdering me in cold blood were unfounded. I don't intend to go down without a fight."

Several seconds of grim silence fell over the atrium… broken when Riza gave a short, annoyed huff of a sigh. "Very well, then," she said, setting her shoulders square and lifting her chin. "Miles? Hand me your knife, please."

"Lieutenant?" Fuery spoke up, halfway curious, halfway anxious. "What are you —"

He broke off as, knife in hand, Riza went to one knee and pried a tile loose from the damp grouting with the knifetip. Flipping the tile out of the way, she stood, stepping forward, across where the barrier between the two circles had been.

"You were offered what would have been a very quick death," she said, brown eyes cold and hard on Kimblee. "But you've declined that. I was ready to let someone else end this, but you've presented yourself as an able opponent." She looked to the side, where Scar was just stepping to the edge of the circle. "Scar, this doesn't mean I appreciate your offer any less, but the rules and circumstances just changed.

"I'll take it from here."


End file.
